


Lend Me Your Hand

by QuickedWeen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Flirting, Fluff, Hate is a strong word, Hate to Love, Historical, Light Angst, London, M/M, Mistrust and disagreement to love, Regency, Regency Romance, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Viscount Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 63,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickedWeen/pseuds/QuickedWeen
Summary: Society has long since decided that the soulmarks everyone is born with are entirely unfashionable. They're just another way for people of a lower class to scam their way into marrying above their station.Lord Louis Tomlinson, Viscount Loring, on the other hand, has always believed that he will find his soulmate one day. Despite preparing for a match his whole life, he is entirely unprepared for the arrival of Gemma Styles' younger brother.Harry Styles has been traveling and away from society for over a year. Coming back, he intends to spend time with his sister, and slowly reacquaint himself with life in town. He doesn't need to wait around for a soulmark to determine how his life will play out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have finally written a long Regency fic, so a lot of this is entirely self-indulgent.
> 
> There are so so so many people to thank for getting me through this summer. Namely Sus and Emmi for forcing every word out of me even when I was kicking and screaming like a brat. They've been amazing.
> 
> Nic did such such such an amazing job beta-ing this and was such a great sport about it being Regency (and again, self-indulgent). Any mistakes are my own!
> 
> Also Anitra, Bec, Amanda, and Bri without whom you would not be reading this.
> 
> As ever I've ignored historically accurate homophobia because this is a Regency romance and there will be fluff!!! For those who don't know him, Luke Malak is Louis old school fried Luke aka "Hot Luke" and I am very much a fan of the epiphany I had when trying to find Bebe a man worthy of her greatness.
> 
> Title and excerpt from "Awake My Soul" by Mumford & Sons

_Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all_  
_But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall_  
_Lend me your eyes, I can change what you see_  
_But your soul you must keep, totally free_

 

The air was humid and heavy with the scent of cloying perfume and bodies pressed together. Ratafia spilled over the sides of the glasses that Louis was retrieving for his sisters Charlotte and Felicité, and he prayed none of it would splash onto his brand new waistcoat. He didn’t want to have to be the one to go back to his tailor with that particular request. The Honourable Louis Tomlinson, Viscount Loring, was definitely terrified of inciting the wrath of his tailor.

Louis reached his destination, where his two sisters were supposed to be standing, but they were nowhere to be seen. He heaved a sigh, and leaned against a pillar, reflexively taking a sip of the ratafia. He immediately regretted it, grimacing in disgust, mourning that it wasn’t a healthy dram of whiskey instead. If he were at his club right now it would be whiskey, he thought to himself, pouting.

The week prior he really would have been at his club, but this week, it was the first Almack’s of the season, and it genuinely felt as though they had given a voucher to everyone under the sun. Whatever happened to assembly rooms being exclusive? Louis wasn’t classist, just claustrophobic.

Someone bumped him roughly on the shoulder, and he only just managed to save his boots from the vile liquid.

“Brother! There you are!” Lottie’s dulcet tones rang out during a break in the dancing. Louis was glad she could see him because he still wasn’t sure which direction to look. Finally, he saw her push through the last barrier and emerge in the small space in front of him with Fizzy close behind. He practically shoved their glasses into their waiting hands, and Lottie raised one eyebrow in judgment at the amount of liquid in each one. Louis, very maturely, stuck his tongue out at her before recoiling in defence against a solid slap to the back of his head.

“Tomlinson!” Niall Horan, Earl of Westmeath, shouted in his ear as the musicians took up their instruments again. “I’m going to cut that tongue out one of these days,” he joked, poking Louis in the ribs.

“Horan,” Louis nodded, subtly trying to get back at Niall by pinching the sensitive skin on the underside of his arm. The fabric of his blasted jacket was too bloody thick. Revenge would have to come later.

Or never, he amended, as Niall leaned over to murmur in his ear that his wife Gemma had escaped to the balcony with a flask of whiskey. God bless the Irish.

Lottie must have sensed what he was up to. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re supposed to be our chaperone.”

“You’re twenty-one years old, shouldn’t you have been compromised by now?” Louis whined.

The glint in her eye was one that scared Louis every time it appeared; it always meant trouble for him. “I’d like to see them try.”

That precise attitude was indicative of why he was useless as a chaperone. He loved to scare away their suitors for fun. It was entirely too entertaining to watch the latest crop of whelps cower in fear when he turned his icy stare on them. In truth, Lottie was much more terrifying than he was.

Which was why he felt more than comfortable sneaking away with his friends and leaving his sisters to their own devices. “Take care of Fizzy, ta!” he called over his shoulder, already moving towards the back entrance to the balcony, following the perfectly drawn line of Niall’s jacket.

He ducked and dove, fighting off flying limbs and the usual matchmaking matrons throwing their daughters violently in his path as though that would elicit a marriage proposal from him on the spot. Really, those poor debutantes.

More ribbons flew in his face as Niall snuck behind a curtain, and Louis threw himself out after him.

They were both battle weary and panting, leaning on each other as the cool night air washed over them.

“Are you alright, boys?” Lady Horan asked.

Louis ignored her obvious teasing. “Is it just me or does this get worse every year?” He nodded in the vicinity of the assembly rooms behind him.

“It’s only because it’s the beginning of the season. After everyone is sure that the rest of society is back in town, people will start hosting more private balls,” Gemma answered, already reaching into her reticule to pull out the flask. She handed it to her husband first, of course. He was going to drink all of it before Louis even got the chance to have a swig.

His noises of protest went ignored.

When Niall finally handed him the whiskey, there was just enough for two swigs. He downed his first, and then valiantly held it out to Gemma, but she waved him away. “Had some already.”

Louis finished it off, then handed back the flask for her to hide away again.

“I’ll have to go back in later. I promised Fizzy the last dance just in case no one else filled her dance card,” Louis said leaning back against the balustrade.

Gemma tucked her hand through the crook of Niall’s elbow and leaned her head gently onto his shoulder. Louis’ heart ached for a moment before he willed the lump in his throat away.

“I suppose Lottie won’t have any trouble filling hers,” Gemma shook her head and chuckled.

She was correct, of course. His sister Lottie was beautiful, sociable, and had too much money. Each trait by itself was valuable in a debutante, but all three together was lethal. Many of the girls envied her bitterly until they got to know her and realised she was also kind and loyal. Louis was exceedingly proud of her, of course.

Fizzy was her opposite. She was beautiful and kind as well, to be sure, but had no mind for paying shallow compliments and entertaining mindless conversation. She was extremely thoughtful and careful about what she said, which made her seem much quieter on the whole, especially when compared to Lottie.

Gemma had already been out in society for five or six years by the time Lottie came out, but they emerged on the social scene at roughly the same time after Gemma’s mother married a baron thus lifting her up in society and increasing the number of invitations she received. As a man, there was only so much Louis could do to help his sisters in society, but Gemma was kind enough to take Lottie in hand, and they navigated their debuts together that year.

Lottie and Gemma were kindred spirits, peas in a pod, and together they made a force of nature. Many girls reached society wholly unprepared and drowned under the pressure and hedonism that lurked behind closed doors. With her outgoing personality and ease in making friends, Louis had been worried about Lottie. Under Gemma’s guidance that first year, though, Lottie had built up her confidence even more, and was strong enough to maintain her convictions.

Lottie had then passed her strength and convictions on to Fizzy, continuing the cycle.

Louis could not have been more proud of them and all that they had accomplished. He knew their mother wished she could be in London more, or go to balls and parties to help them more, but with two younger children still in dresses, it was difficult for her to get away from their estate in Doncaster.

He liked to pretend that he would resist spoiling his sisters while his mother couldn’t be there, but he never did. Even though it still made him a bit uncomfortable, he still went with them to the modiste when he could, to provide an 'outsider' opinion. When he was a much younger bachelor, he would try to convince himself it was like going to the tailor, but with an excess of silk and lace. That didn’t much work, though. Louis, Niall, and their other friend Liam, son of the Earl of Stafford, all went to the same tailor, who was also one of their best friends (the same one that he would be terrified to face if he got ratafia anywhere near his clothing).

They used to all go as a group and take their appointments all at once, and spend the whole day with their tailor, Zayn, in his studio as he took their measurements or fitted their new garments. It was nothing like the stiff and disapproving atmosphere of the French modistes the girls visited.

Their leisurely days in the studio had fallen by the wayside a bit since Niall had found Gemma, his soulmate, and married her.

It had happened about six months prior, as far as Louis knew. Niall had been mooning over Gemma for ages, then one night at the end of the last season they had all been invited to a ball. Towards the beginning of the evening, Niall and Gemma had both disappeared mysteriously and never returned. A few days later they emerged, saying that their soulmarks had fused and they were soulmates. They were married after the banns were posted at Gemma's home parish in Cheshire before they went back to his estate in Ireland. The whole thing had happened so quickly, it was a whirlwind.

Almost two hundred years prior—after the reinstatement of Charles II and the monarchy—the upper class became extremely wary of soulmarks. The more modern disapproval of soulmarks and so-called soulmate matches was rampant amongst the ton.

Soulmarks were naturally given, no one knew where they came from, but they began to form somewhere on each person’s skin around the time of adolescence. They darkened and took shape as the person continued to grow and develop. When someone found their match, if both people touched each others’ soulmarks with their hands at the same time and their marks fused, creating new identical marks, it meant that they were soulmates.

After the unrest of the Civil War and Cromwell’s reign, the ton began to see soulmarks as a way for the lower class to marry above their station and insert themselves into the upper crust of society. Dress became even more formal and modest allowing every inch of skin to be covered so that no one could see a mark and fraudulently declare a match in some way.

The other issue surrounding soulmarks, especially given the peerage’s views on the subject, was that they were an incredibly private and intimate thing. Many people didn’t discuss anything about their marks, matching, or finding their soulmate, for that reason. That made it difficult to know what to expect for oneself when one found his or her match.

Louis had grown up with an incredibly open and passionate mother who relished the idea of her children all finding their soulmates. The majority of his school friends and peers weren’t as lucky. He and his sisters had never spoken about it explicitly, but as far as he knew they were holding out for their soulmates just as Louis was.

Three years prior, there had been an agreement in place between Louis’ mother and the parents of one of his friends; Lavinia Damon-Cowles. He had known Lavinia all his life, and the Damon-Cowles had always been close with the Tomlinsons. They were a bit more snobbish than his own family, unnaturally fixed on the social climb. Louis had inherited his title by then and still had not found his soulmate. He had known Lavinia all his life, liked her well enough, so who was to say she wasn’t his soulmate?

They made the arrangements for a marriage between them and had everything in place ready to go. When the time came to check their marks, Louis led Lavinia up to his private sitting room and they unveiled their soulmarks. There was nothing untoward about it; Lavinia took off her gloves to reveal the image of a nosegay made up of small flowers with pointed petals that could have been a forget-me-not. He would have known if he had looked more closely, but he was battling an overwhelming amount of nerves at the time. His heart was pounding, and his palms were sweaty.

Louis dreaded having to touch the skin of her mark when he was in such a state. To reveal his own, he only needed to remove his jacket and roll up the sleeve of his shirt underneath to uncover the dagger on the outside of his forearm.

They stepped closer to each other and Lavinia grabbed his wrist to bring his arm and soulmark within reach. In the moment, Louis had been grateful for her more forceful attitude, because the idea of finally confirming his soulmate had been too monumental for him.

In the back of his mind, before they performed the test, he had seen her small dainty flowers and had questioned how they would fuse with a dagger to create a new mark. He managed to convince himself that soulmarks were a tricky and unpredictable business, right before reaching out to touch the tips of his fingers to the inside of her wrist.

It felt intimate, was the thing. Much more intimate than he had expected. Unfortunately, nothing had happened. They weren’t soulmates and Louis could not, in good conscience, marry her. Lavinia’s family had been devastated, intent on marrying her off to a viscount, and it had taken a while for her parents to speak to his mother again.

For Louis, there had only been an overwhelming sense of relief.

The few months after his engagement were a period of self-reflection. He realised very quickly that part of the relief came from Lavinia’s gender. When he was young he had never limited his view of the future; his soulmate could be whomever fate decided it would be. It wasn’t until later that he understood himself more deeply, and decided he was more likely to be attracted to, and therefore soulmates with, a man.

Society being what it was, news of their broken engagement spread like wildfire. The rumors surrounding the circumstances died out eventually, but it did give him the reputation of wanting to be with a woman. He never commented on any of the rumors, deciding instead to remain quiet about it.

Louis knew that it was awareness, not vanity, to understand what he was worth to the right match. He had a title and all of the money to go with it. Even if Louis didn’t, his mother’s second husband was wealthy enough in his own right.

Lavinia had been very elegant about the situation, and they were still good friends. Louis valued her opinion and was glad that they could still speak freely. She had married a Duke a little less than a year prior and she seemed happy. After her marriage, Louis saw her less and less, especially when everyone scattered to the country during the summer, but that should change with the beginning of the season.

There was an electricity to the air in Almack’s as that year’s new crop of debutantes were paraded around. The furnishings and dressings of the ballroom were all the same, society was the same, none of the debutantes were a surprise—unlike the year Gemma had emerged untitled and older than the simpering young misses, but more graceful and poised than all of them combined—yet something still had Louis on edge.

The anticipation and excitement of the evening were infectious. Everything had felt a bit stagnant for Louis of late, even amidst the constant chaos of his six siblings.

A few moments later, Louis felt a grip on his wrist. Lottie’s eyes danced with mirth as she dragged him into the middle of a set for the quadrille, no doubt snubbing whoever had written their name down on her dance card. The waltz was next, and Lottie knew he meant to take that with Fizzy, so he went along begrudgingly, sure in the knowledge that she would release him of his duties in time.

Louis loved to dance the waltz with Fizzy and by now it was their tradition. She hated the pressure of having to find a young man to dance with for that particular dance, and Louis loved to be her safe haven.

When the quadrille was done Lottie disappeared just as Fizzy tapped on his arm, and they fell into their place in the set easily. The waltz was always a welcome respite after such a spirited dance.

The lilting music of the waltz slowed to a stop and Louis and Fizzy walked towards Gemma and Niall, who were retreating to the edge of the dancing as well, and inserted themselves into their conversation.

“His last letter said he should be here sometime this week,” Gemma said to Niall as they approached.

“Who should be here?” Louis asked, ignoring all propriety.

Gemma couldn’t contain her grin. “My younger brother, Harry.”

Louis nodded, prepared to let the subject drop, but he should have known given his own status as an older sibling, Gemma was ready to gush.

“He’s been traveling the continent, in France and Italy, for the past year, I’m sure he’s had the most amazing time. I can’t wait for him to tell us all about his adventures.”

If he had been traveling during their wedding, it explained why Louis had never met him. He couldn’t bring a face to mind.

“Is that where he was when you were married?” Louis asked.

Gemma leaned back into Niall’s chest a bit, and Niall brought his hand up and around to rest on the skin of her arm just at the top of her glove. “Yes, it was unfortunate, but our wedding happened so quickly, he didn’t have enough time to make it back to England.”

The blush rose on Niall’s cheeks. Louis was well aware of why their wedding had happened so quickly, he did not need it to be confirmed. He would forever knock before entering a carriage now; catching them _in flagrante delicto_ once was enough to teach him that particular lesson.

“It will be nice to have him around I’m sure,” Louis conceded, hoping to change the subject.

Niall barked a laugh. “I’m not so sure you’ll enjoy it, Lou.”

Louis was confused; he had never met the man before. “Why?”

Gemma and Niall shared an odd look, and Louis felt distinctly left out. “Well,” she started, “Harry is a very, very dependable and wonderful brother, but he’s a huge flirt.”

Nothing Gemma said was particularly offensive, Louis himself was known to be a flirt, but something in the way she said it implied there was more.

“And he doesn’t believe in soulmarks.”

That was the catch, then, of Gemma’s paragon of a brother. “What do you mean he doesn’t ‘believe’ in them?”

Gemma hesitated again. “He doesn’t understand why people place so much stock in them.”

Louis’ eyebrows rose. “Well, it’s not exactly fashionable to amongst the ton, or hasn’t he heard?”

“He knows,” she laughed, “but it’s still a bit of a thorn in his side.”

“Why?” Louis asked, watching his sister Lottie float around the room on the arm of a gentleman he didn’t recognise.

“You’ll have to ask him when he arrives,” she replied. Louis appreciated that Gemma liked to be purposefully enigmatic. It balanced out Niall very nicely, open book that he was.

Louis could tell that she wanted to say something else, so he didn’t reply.

“He’s… Well, as I said he’s a wonderful brother, the very best. And he’s got a good heart.” She smiled wistfully at Louis, and for someone who so enjoyed to be snarky with him, it was slightly off-putting to see her look so young and girlish. Her brother must be very charming indeed. Though, one would hope his sister could see through any superficial charm. His own certainly could.

“I do hope you’re not talking about soulmarks again,” a voice whined over Niall’s shoulder. When they all turned to look, the figure of their good friend Liam was moving towards their small group.

“How did you know, Payne?” Niall asked.

“Wild guess,” he answered sardonically. Liam, and apparently Gemma’s brother, was not as enamored of soulmarks as the rest of them; therefore, he was in the minority when they all inevitably started talking about them. Secretly, Louis thought there was a level of bitterness involved, as Liam had said many times that his own mark was fairly nondescript.

If it was unfashionable to believe in soulmarks, it was downright obscene to actually discuss what the shape of one’s mark was. Louis, who had always been fairly liberal-minded, had to fight his own discomfort whenever Liam mentioned it.

Much of the discomfort came from societal pressures to not indulge in conversation about marks, but also the intimate way in which his mother would talk about them when he was a child.

She loved the concept of soulmarks, despite not finding her own soulmate until much later in life. Because it had taken her so long to find her own soulmate, and she had such a fascination with them, his mother had learned as much as she possibly could on the subject and had passed that knowledge along to her children. Louis had taken up his own study every now and again, nothing as in-depth as his mother’s before she had all of her children, but for recreational purposes.

He learned that the shape and intricacy of one’s mark didn’t necessarily mean anything specific, because when soulmates were joined, their marks fused. That meant that one person’s mark was useless without their other half. Liam’s mark was nondescript, yes, but his eventual partner’s would hopefully put that in context and make a complete shape.

There wasn’t much said about people who never found their soulmate because it was rather callous to ask the question in the first place. After a certain age, many people chose to marry someone who wasn’t their soulmate, as Louis’ mother did with her first husband, though she married very early. Everything happened for a reason on the path to one’s soulmate, even if that meant never finding them.

Louis shuddered to think about it.

He had always had a feeling that was difficult to describe, a sense, a spark of intuition, that he would find his. There was never any guarantee in life, though, a fact which he tried to remind himself of frequently when he felt as though he was putting too much stake in finding his match.

In the meantime, every mother of a debutante was content to continue throwing their daughters in his path. It bothered him, the marriage meat market, but he would mind considerably less if they were throwing their sons.

“Come, Liam, have you had a drink?” Louis asked, content to change the subject and move on from the topic of soulmarks in deference to his friend.

Louis, Liam, and Niall set off in search of refreshments, cursing the absolute crush in the ballroom. When they found the gentlemen taking their port in an anteroom they settled comfortably into a corner of the room. Gemma stayed behind in the ballroom, caught in a conversation with one of her old school friends.

“Do you know, Lou, I reckon Harry and Lottie will get on quite well,” Niall said as Liam helped him light the end of a cheroot. He sank back into the leather of the chair, smoking the cigar, and leaned his head back to relax.

“And just what do you mean by that, Niall?” Louis asked, his hackles immediately raised. A rake who saw no value in soulmarks wouldn’t be sniffing around his sister if he had anything to say about it.

Niall chuckled, ruining the smoke ring he was trying to make. He was never very good at them anyway, too impatient to learn how to do it properly. “Nothing untoward, I’m only saying they’re similar, Harry and Lottie. Social butterflies as it were. Though now that you mention it, they could certainly make a match of it. That wouldn’t surprise me.”

Louis grimaced. “Absolutely not. You heard Gemma, she said he’s a flirt. You _know_ him!”

“It’s not so drastic as all that, Louis. He’s charming, that’s certain, but he doesn’t actively seek it out like a true rake. It just sort of happens,” Niall said, clearly searching and failing to find the right words to express what he was thinking.

Louis hummed skeptically in response and they fell into silence. He still wasn’t sure about this Harry Styles character. He would need to form his own opinions. There was no doubt that he loved Gemma as though she was his own sister, just as Niall and Liam were his honourary brothers, but the extension of love could only go so far.

Maybe Harry Styles was his limit.

When they were done having their smoke in the gentlemen’s parlour, they all returned to the ballroom to escort their various female relations home for the evening. Louis handed Lottie and Fizzy into their waiting carriage. He didn’t bother letting the coachman know that they were ready to depart because there was so much traffic. They would be required to sit in the queue for at least twenty minutes hence as everyone moved out of St. James Square.

Honestly, if Louis hadn’t been his sisters’ chaperone for the evening he could have just walked the twenty minutes home to Grosvenor Square, or taken one of his horses for a ride in the open air. Carriages were so stuffy, especially with his sisters laughing and squawking about everything that had happened over the course of the evening. They were all there, Louis would never understand the need to rehash everything immediately.

As they continued to jabber on, Louis closed his eyes, leaned against the side of the carriage, and went over his horse training schedule for the next few weeks. With no races scheduled until the Royal Ascot, none of them were in need of any dire help at the moment and were all coming along perfectly, which was no good. When Louis didn’t have anything to do he got restless, he knew this about himself.

His mother had teased him since he was a young boy, saying that it was such a pity he had been born into privilege the way he had. So many of his peers were content to be dandies and layabouts, men of leisure. Louis enjoyed leisure to be sure, but only for about thirty minutes before the itch began to fester under his skin and he felt the outdoors calling to him.

The carriage began to make its way down King Street at a snail’s pace. They were sure to make it home sometime in the next week.

He focused on his plan for the next day instead of something so broad as the next few weeks. With no pressing matters to attend to in the morning that he knew of, he could take one of his horses out for a ride.

“Louis escaped out onto the terrace with Niall and Gemma. Don’t think I don’t know what you all were doing out there,” Lottie warned, interrupting his thoughts.

“I know not of which you speak,” Louis said without opening his eyes.

Fizzy nudged him in the side, and he squinted, making eye contact with her where she sat next to him on the wide bench seat.

She smiled her small, private smile that always made his heart melt. “Thank you for dancing with me, brother.”

Louis leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Of course. Always.”


	2. Chapter 2

The fog was still thick as Louis rode through Mayfair towards the Serpentine. The heaviness of the air settled Louis, in a way. It was the second time that week he had felt the need to get up at the crack of dawn and saddle up for a ride. He thanked God every day that his family's London townhouse was so close to Hyde Park.

Something—he had no idea what—drove the restless feeling in his bones. He had gone for a ride the morning after Almack’s, and then again this morning he had woken up with the light and was out of the house before his valet, a man called Downey, could even to catch on to what was happening.

Usually, it was nothing that a ride in the park with no one around couldn’t cure, but even that had not assuaged the odd feeling which he could not shake.

His favourite horse, Jasmine, was a beautiful black mare who had been hell to tame.

Louis and Jasmine had come to an understanding during her training. She needed to learn the way Louis wanted her to behave, and Louis needed to learn that she was only behaving that way by choice and he would never truly own her. Free spirit, she was, and Louis loved it—loved _her_.

She was the perfect companion for his early morning rides. She absolutely _loathed_ sticking to the rules of the road when the paths were packed with people at midday or in the afternoon before tea. The open air of the morning, when hardly anyone else was around and she could run wild, was much better suited to her spirited constitution. They only ever ran into the grooms of Louis’ neighbors taking their own masters’ horses for rides in the early morning dew.

As soon as they hit the edge of the park, she took off like a shot. Louis calmly adjusted his seat and let her run. Jasmine managed to communicate just how much she missed his country estate without saying anything at all.

She ran hard for as long as she wanted, letting Louis steer her subtly away from things like trees and park benches. The fog was still dense but she cut through it like an arrow. It dissipated as she finally began to slow down and approach the water. Coming to a full stop, Jasmine shook her head and tugged on the bridle, indicating that Louis should dismount.

“Yeah, cheers.” Louis snorted before doing as she asked. She whinnied in pleasure and leaned down at the water’s edge to take a drink as her breathing slowed.

“Were you talking to your horse just now?” a deep voice asked. The sound echoed across the top of the water before being absorbed in the mist. Louis searched for the source of the noise and didn’t see anyone, but he did see a horse with no groom. He was shocked he hadn’t noticed the horse yet on his approach.

The animal was standing awkwardly against a tree alone which was suspicious given that solitary horses without riders weren’t allowed in the park at such an hour.

“Over here,” the disembodied voice called again. Surely Louis would have noticed if he had hit his head on a branch during their ride and caused these hallucinations. “I could use some assistance if you don’t mind.”

Finally, Louis saw a hand wave from behind the tree.

“Hello?” Louis called.

“Yes, hello.” The man’s voice was strained. Moments later, Louis heard rustling noises as though he was brushing himself off. “Here I am,” the man added as he came into view.

They locked eyes and Louis felt his heart stop. The man was beyond beautiful. His curly hair had frizzed up from the humidity, and presumably some form of exertion. The somewhat unfashionably long tresses brushed the fabric on the collar of his overcoat, which was splayed open, showing off his linen shirtsleeves. He held his hat in one hand and his hair blew in the wind; he wore no collar points, waistcoat, or cravat, so Louis could see a sliver of the skin on his chest where his shirt lay open.

Despite his lack of proper attire, Louis could tell that he was a gentleman. There was an air about him that told Louis he did not do any sort of hard labor like a groom might.

Louis swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hello.”

The man had already been smiling, but after he gave Louis a not-very-subtle once over, there was a slightly more dangerous edge to his expression. “We’ve already done that bit,” he replied as he tilted his head flirtatiously to the side.

“Right,” Louis breathed out.

“Right.” The stranger winked and Louis was mesmerised. The man had a defined jaw and decidedly strong features, but it was as if someone had then painted over them with a wash of femininity. His skin was clear and smooth with only the barest hint of wrinkles around his eyes. Dimples cratered his cheeks, one deeper than the other. And his lips? His lips were plump and a vibrant pink that Louis had only seen before on the roses at his country estate—a shade so unique it could only be found in nature. Louis could have watched the way his lips formed words, as though he was chewing and savouring each letter, all day.

There was a reason he had hailed Louis’ attention but for the life of him, Louis could not remember what it was.

“Help. Did you not, um… Did you need help?” Louis asked. He stumbled over his words as though he was a school boy.

“Help?” the man asked. In that moment Louis realised he was not alone in being rendered unable to recall the English language.

“You called for help a moment ago?”

The man stared at him for another heartbeat. “Yes! Help. My horse,” he said haltingly, pointing with his hat in hand towards the animal in question. “My horse has thrown a shoe and I could use some assistance.”

Louis eyed both him and the horse. “There are plenty of grooms around at this time of morning,” he replied skeptically.

The man shrugged with a sunny smile that had a tinge of sheepishness. “I wasn’t in much of a hurry and none of them have been within shouting distance. Plus, I wouldn’t want to disturb the peace of the morning.”

 _The peace of the morning_. This man was unreal. Louis was genuinely considering the possibility that he was not of this earth, and wanted to tell him so.

“I can help you,” was all that came out of his mouth instead.

The man’s eyes lit up and he extended his hands in Louis’ direction as though he was going to embrace him but stopped short. “That’s wonderful news!”

Louis gestured behind him to the small saddle bag he kept with him when he was out riding. He knew it wasn’t usual for a gentleman to carry his own tools but in Louis’ work with horses he was a perfectionist and liked to take care of his own animals. There were a few grooms he trusted in his employ but if the opportunity arose, he did the work himself.

The man waited in place as Louis backtracked to where Jasmine was standing. He didn’t trust her in the slightest so he hitched her to a nearby post while she protested with slight jerks of her neck. She calmed down as soon as she had thoroughly tested the limits of the tether.

“She’s a beautiful animal,” the man said reverently, staring at Jasmine in awe.

“Do me a favor, don’t tell her that?” Louis called over his shoulder. The man barked out a boisterous laugh that was much higher pitched than Louis had expected given the regular timbre of his voice.

Armed with his small hammer, Louis turned back around to face the man and indicate where his horse was standing. “How does she do with strangers?” Louis asked. One never could be sure what quirks any given horse might have, as they were extremely intelligent creatures.

“She’s a dream. Old and slow, Daisy is, and meek as a kitten.”

“Daisy? I have a sister named Daisy,” Louis replied absently as he reached his hand up gingerly so that he could introduce himself to her. When she didn’t show any signs of mischief, he moved to her neck and stroked her gently on her withers.

Again, she accepted his advances with little to no interest or care, so Louis got to work. He crouched down under her flank, lifting her affected hoof up to rest on his knee, definitely muddying up his now no longer pristine buckskin breeches.

“Oh, your trousers!” the man exclaimed forlornly.

Louis shook his head while concentrating on Daisy. “Never mind them, they’ll be fine. Happens all the time.” Thus, his tailor wanted to kill him all the time.

The man was quiet for a while as Louis worked. Finally, Louis tested the security of Daisy’s shoe before letting her leg drop carefully back down to the ground. As she shifted her weight to test it, he moved out of the way and brushed himself off as best he could despite the lost cause of his breeches.

“That should do it, I think.”

The man was leaning against the tree nearby with his arms crossed, watching. “Do you know, I don't quite know what to make of you,” the man said.

Louis quirked an eyebrow at him in disbelief—this stranger who had interrupted his morning solitude with his dimples and charm. “Oh?”

“I thought you were a gentleman, but I’ve never met another gentleman quite so willing to get his hands dirty,” he explained, pausing suggestively with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Louis darted his tongue out to lick his suddenly dry lips. “Well, maybe you just haven’t met the right gentlemen.”

The man hummed in response. “Maybe.”

As soon as the word left his mouth, the clock struck, startling both horses. Louis wanted to stay and spend the rest of the day watching this man’s mouth move as he spoke—or did other things—but his family would be waiting, holding breakfast for him. He stuck one foot in the stirrup on Jasmine’s saddle and mounted easily.

“Will I see you again?” the man asked. “Tomorrow morning?”

“I do often ride here,” Louis conceded.

The man winked at him before throwing one of his gangly legs over his own saddle. “Until then,” he said as he turned and rode away.

Though he had been the first to mount his horse and imply that he was riding away, Louis held Jasmine’s reigns as she stood uncharacteristically still and they watched the man ride away on Daisy. The whole interaction had happened very quickly and succinctly like a strange whirlwind in the middle of Hyde Park at an hour of the morning when no decent folks were about.

Louis could tell that the man was certainly not decent, he thought jokingly as he cleared his head and gave Jasmine’s reigns a tug. Restless energy quelled, for the time being, she began to trot calmly home because she knew that her own breakfast was on the horizon as well.

When they arrived, Louis handed her over to one of the grooms, a young man by the name of Anthony. Louis knew his stable hands were all more than willing to do the morning ride if he was out of town, or still sleeping off having too much fun the night before, and he also knew that the morning ride was how a fair amount of gossip spread amongst the servants.

“Anthony?” Louis asked before he even realised what he was doing—a problem that seemed to plague him this morning.

“Sir?” Anthony asked, jumping a bit to stand at attention and halting Jasmine in place to take her saddle off.

“There was a new horse and rider I hadn’t seen before in the park this morning. Know anything about it?” If there was a new family in town the grooms might have seen an influx of jobs available or might know if there was a stable hiring. Stables always needed young boys to fill out their ranks to take care of all of the horses, especially one that serviced a house of a family of the ton who usually had at least four different carriage horses.

Anthony didn’t answer right away as he fiddled with Jasmine’s tack. “Don’t think so, Sir, not that I heard. I can ask the other boys if they know anything?” He looked eager to solve this mystery for Louis, which made him smile.

“That’s alright, I’m sure the rumor mill will churn soon enough,” he replied waving the young man away to do his duty. Anthony nodded at him before hanging up Jasmine’s saddle and leading her away so she could partake in her grains. Louis knew the boy was soft-hearted towards the animals as he had been at that age, so Jasmine was sure to have at least one apple waiting for her as a treat.

Louis entered their townhouse through the kitchen even though he was always told off for doing so by the cook, even twenty-seven years on. There was an air of relative calm which meant that the breakfast trays had already left and were sure to be loaded with goodies in the dining room as long as his sisters hadn't demolished them.

As predicted, Lottie and Fizzy were already seated waiting for him, but he hadn’t expected to see Niall and Gemma as well. He had thought having a wife would tame Niall of his sociable lurking ways but apparently not.

“Morning, brother,” Lottie called before tucking into her plate. Louis leaned down to give Gemma, Fizzy, and Lottie a kiss on the cheek each in turn, but when he got to Niall, the man puckered up his lips and made kissy noises, so Louis shoved a hand in his face.

“Don’t you have your own dining room? And cook? And food?” he asked, pulling his chair out to take a seat.

“Yes, but we like it over here,” Niall said on a huff.

Gemma patted him on the arm before turning to Louis. “I had to talk to your sisters this morning, which is why we had such an early start. We’ve all been invited to the country.”

“Oh?” Louis asked. “Who is first this year?” he hoped their estate wasn’t too far away. He hated journeying that far from London unless it was to his own estate.

“The Lethbridge’s in Sussex, I believe,” Gemma replied. “Two week’s time.”

Louis couldn’t very well argue with that one, could he. “Fine,” he grumbled.

“Everyone is in a wonderful mood this morning, I see,” Liam called out as he burst into the room.

“Don’t any of you have your own homes?” Louis griped. Everyone ignored him in favor of greeting Liam.

“Gemma, Fizzy, and I all have an appointment with the modiste today so we can order new gowns before we go. They should be finished by then even if it will be a rush. I’m glad we already had the appointment in place, we should be able to squeeze in ahead of the other girls,” Lottie continued to chatter on as she and Gemma began to discuss new cuts and styles.

“Do you think they would notice if we disappeared?” Niall whispered to Louis and Liam. Louis opened his mouth to respond.

“Yes,” all three women answered simultaneously.

Louis deflated and went back to his food, as did a chastened Niall.

“Louis, our appointment is at noon and you must come with us,” Fizzy spoke up, addressing him vehemently to make sure he understood. He did. They needed a chaperone besides Gemma and he knew it.

“I know, I know, I’ll be there,” he conceded. They also knew to have Fizzy be the one to ask him for things because he could hold his own against Lottie and Gemma but was positively weak for Fizzy.

That decided, she turned to Gemma, “Will your brother be coming to Sussex?” she asked quietly.

Gemma’s eyes lit up, “Yes! For the hunt. He should arrive in town any day now, actually, so he’ll be here to come with us. His days are open for a while now that he’ll be home—as he tells it.”

Right, Gemma’s flirt of a brother who didn’t believe in soulmarks. Louis rolled his eyes internally in an attempt to avoid insulting Gemma. Yet another reason to look forward to the first country house visit of the season.

Liam was the most outwardly excited, save for Gemma. “The hunt should be great this trip, then. I won’t be stuck with the dandy set who are only out for vanity’s sake. Between Louis and Harry, there should hopefully be some decent company this time.”

“I’ll be there,” Niall added indignantly.

Liam waved him off. “The moment we decide to set out you will assuredly claim some illness or other and maintain that you must stay behind at the house,” Liam raised his eyebrows suggestively in Gemma’s direction.

“Not so,” Niall replied with very little heat behind his words. Gemma, again, patted his arm placatingly.

“We must be going,” she said moving to stand from her seat. The gentlemen, Louis included, stood with her.

“I thought you were coming to the appointment as well?” Louis asked as he pressed a perfunctory kiss to the top of her hand in parting.

“Yes, I am, but we’ll meet you there. We have a few errands to see to first,” she replied calmly. The way Niall’s hand lifted possessively to her waist belied the nature of those errands. Louis snorted impolitely. Again, he was ignored.

They promptly left, and in their wake, the dining room was much quieter. His sisters went back to their meal, and Liam started telling Louis about a new horse he was thinking about acquiring from a mutual friend of theirs down in Brighton.

“Will you go down there, then?” Louis asked, his interest piqued.

Liam leaned back in his chair, brushing toast crumbs off his hands, “I’ll go to Brighton first and then double back to the estate.”

Louis was amazed at how simple it was for all of them to fall right back into the routine of being in town after a lazy summer out in the countryside. Traveling to see each other during the summer took more time, but they often stayed for longer periods of time. In town, everything was much quicker, life was faster paced.

Felicité and Lottie both disappeared soon after he and Liam made it clear that they were going to continue talking about horses for the foreseeable future; Louis told them when to be down to meet the carriage and was sure they had not heard a word.

“What did you think of this year’s crop of debutantes then?” Liam asked him when they were sure the girls were out of earshot. Louis gave a quick prayer of thanks for best friends who understood meddling sisters.

“Didn’t pay a whit of attention if I’m honest.” He shrugged.

Liam leaned forward, countenance much more serious now. “Are you not actively looking for your soulmate anymore?”

Louis scoffed. “Liam, you can’t possibly think my soulmate is some tittering deb at least ten years my junior.”

“It isn’t like you to rule anyone out so forcefully like that,” he replied, trying to reason with him.

“Most of the group this year are women,” Louis answered flatly.

Liam shrugged as he conceded the point. “You thought Lavinia might be your soulmate there for a moment.”

“Her parents desperately wanted her to be my soulmate, more like,” Louis shot back. They both chuckled lightly at that.

A few moments later, Liam broke the companionable silence when he pushed his chair back. “I’ll keep an eye out for you amongst the eligible bachelors, as always, Lou.”

“You have my gratitude,” Louis replied, putting on airs as he stood up as well. Liam insisted that he could see himself out, so Louis left him and climbed the stairs to his study to double check that everything was in order with his household’s wages that were due to them that week.

 

Much later than intended, the girls pranced down the main staircase and out the door into the waiting carriage. Louis had never understood why they had to take the carriage anyway, if the weather was as nice as it was and they were just going to Bond Street, but everyone in town rode in carriages everywhere so they must comply.

If he had to go anywhere he preferred his curricle, at least that was open, but all three of them wouldn’t fit in the much smaller seat. At least not comfortably.

They made it to the fitting on time—the roads weren’t very crowded—so Louis wasn’t at risk of angering Madame Devy anymore than he usually did. That woman hated him and he never could figure out why.

“Ah, _mademoiselles_ ,” Madame Devy sighed in delight as Lottie and Fizzy crossed the threshold. For all her icy feelings towards Louis, she absolutely adored his sisters. They were apparently much more willing than other girls of the ton to try new and creative designs that were always being brought over from Paris.

Louis was ignored—if he wasn’t careful he was going to develop a complex—as she shuffled them towards the luxurious back room of the shop away from the actually rather spacious front seating area where gentlemen were required to wait. A small platform was tucked in the corner with a large mirror next to it. Louis was intimately familiar with that corner of the shop as he accompanied them to these appointments fairly often, and his sisters frequently came out in their new creations to ask his opinion.

While he was ill-suited to comment on ladies’ fashions of the day, he tried his best to answer the questions he was asked about color or fabric choice, or on some occasions, fit of their gowns. He knew they would prefer their mother be there, but he would have to do.

There were two counters draped with fabric samples and a small cabinet with a display of ribbons, trim, and other fascinators. Louis couldn’t help himself as he gravitated towards the soft looking draped silks and lace swatches. He reached down and fingered a particularly shiny jade-green piece of lace. The color was beautiful and unique with a hint of blue as it shifted in the light. He had only seen that color once before and it had been just that morning.

“Hello,” a deep voice said over his shoulder.

Louis turned sharply and was immediately assaulted by the very green he had been picturing. His stranger from the park.

“Hello, there,” he replied when he had caught his breath again. Not _his_ stranger, _the_ stranger, Louis chided himself.

The man was much more put together now than he had been that morning. His shirt was covered by a waistcoat, and the tanned column of his throat was covered by the linen of a cravat. He actually had collar points this time as well, and his regular tailored jacket was fitted to perfection. While Louis could appreciate the way everything hugged his body so cleanly, he couldn’t help but lament the loss of exposed skin.

“Seeing you again so soon is certainly a welcome surprise,” the man added with the same daring, uneven smile he had sported in the early hours of the morning.

Louis hadn’t been at his best before, but he was more alert now. “Likewise,” he added, injecting cheekiness of his own.

“That’s a beautiful color,” the man nodded to the lace that Louis was still gripping in his right hand.

“It reminded me of something I had seen recently, couldn’t quite pinpoint what that was exactly,” Louis returned, making it very clear that he knew precisely what it was.

When the stranger finally caught on, the eyes in question widened and his shiny pink lips popped open in surprise. “Is that so?”

Louis nodded slowly.

The man reached over and picked up the other end of the long piece of lace. They were separated by at least two feet of space, but Louis could practically feel the way he caressed the delicate stitching. “I may have to try it on for you sometime, so you can compare.”

Visions of this sinful man draped only in the entirely open weave of the lace that matched his eyes swept Louis away for a moment; past Bond street, and up into the hidden world of his private quarters. His desire for this man had faded to embers, but the flames suddenly shot to life. He swayed forward so they were standing much closer together—breathing the same air—jade-green lace falling forgotten between them.

“Ha! I told you both of you knew each other,” Niall’s gratingly familiar voice cut through the quiet air of the shop, full of triumph.

Louis and his stranger caught each other’s gaze again with equally perplexed expressions. Niall came up very close to them further interrupting the drawn tension between their bodies.

“What are you saying, Niall?” Louis glared at his best friend, confused.

His stranger’s eyes snapped to Louis’ face at the familiar way he addressed Niall.

“When Gemma was telling you about Harry the other day, I insisted that you had met but you disagreed.” Niall continued to look back and forth between the two of them expectantly.

Louis understood first, probably having heard much more about Gemma’s brother than the reverse. “Are you Harry Styles, then?” he asked his stranger as he felt his trepidation build.

This was Gemma’s brother. His devastating flirtatious stranger who had planted images of silk and lace was apparently like that with everyone, and Louis had easily fallen into his trap. He had never felt more foolish.

The stranger’s gaze shuttered as he met Louis’ eyes with considerably less warmth. “Yes, I am,” he nodded. “And you’re Viscount Loring?”

Louis held out his hand and could feel the corners of his now very polite, practiced smile pinching. “Louis to friends, please.” Because of his relationship with Niall and Gemma, Louis didn’t want the two of them to start their acquaintance with any more awkwardness than was sure to be present already.

“Pleasure,” Harry said flatly as he reached out and took Louis’ hand. Both of them were gloveless and the skin to skin contact was a bit of a shock to Louis. The spark he felt was just left over attraction, it must be.

Gemma appeared from behind Harry. “Hello, again, Louis. I see you’ve met Harry.”

“Gemma.” He smiled and nodded at her.

“I’m so glad you’ve been introduced,” she added, looking at her brother without her usual mask of wit and snarkiness. She was most likely too happy to have him back, which was lovely, but Louis preferred when she was his partner in crime.

Their entire party was suspended in a moment of social discomfort, not sure where to go from there. Louis was scrambling for any excuse to extract himself from the situation, but he couldn’t abandon his sisters in the shop after he had promised to stay with them.

Harry, thankfully, saved the day. “This has been lovely, but I really must be going.”

Gemma looked surprised, and Louis felt guilty for most likely being the reason Harry wanted to leave. “What are you saying? I thought you would stay,” she asked.

Harry faltered a moment. “I’ve been away for so long. I really must make sure all of my affairs are in order. The bank is not far away, I should drop by.”

He kissed Gemma on the cheek and nodded his head to everyone else in the party, playfully clapping Niall on the back, before leaving the shop. As soon as he left, Gemma took her leave to join Louis’ sisters at the back of the salon for her own fitting.

“Did you not know Harry, Louis?” Niall asked Louis as soon as they were alone.

He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest as he processed everything that had happened since he entered the shop. “No, no. Just met now.”

Still confused, Niall pressed the subject. “But you were discussing something when we came in,” he pointed out.

“Pleasantries. That’s all,” he lied smoothly. “Was it not you that said he was a bit of a flirt?”

Niall didn’t look mollified, but he let the subject drop and they moved on to other topics and idle chat as they waited for the ladies to be done.

When their companions emerged in their new gowns, Niall and Louis were effusive in their compliments to make up for their lack of knowledge on the subject. There were a few more fabric samples shown and a few more trims replaced before one of the seamstresses held up a swatch of the jade-green lace that had been the crux of Louis’ disconcerting afternoon.

“No!” Louis cried out before he could stop himself. Lottie looked surprised that his opinion was so strong. He attempted to cover his mistake. “I think you should go with the darker trim instead.”

The last thing he needed was to be surprised by that particular bit of lace on one of his sisters’ gowns. He shuddered at the thought.

The ladies retreated again to the back of the salon. Once they emerged in the dresses they had arrived in, Louis shepherded their whole party out into the crisp autumn sunshine.

 

When they arrived back home, Louis went straight to the stables again despite having just visited that morning. That was what he did when he was feeling on edge: he rode, or if he couldn’t ride, he trained. It was the middle of the day in London and the weather was nice for once, so there was absolutely no chance of his saddling a horse and making a break for it, the park would be much too congested.

He closed his eyes tight and wished he was back home in the country. Damn London and it’s damned season.

Jasmine must have been able to feel his restlessness because he could hear her pacing back and forth in her stall, rustling the hay on the ground. He carefully opened up her pen and slipped inside to make sure she was secure. When they were both ready, he led her out of the pen and into the more open area of the stable where he hitched her to one of the posts.

Slowly and methodically he began to brush her as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. The smell of manure was an obstacle, but as always, his nose began to adjust after a few moments.

It had been a long time since he had reacted to someone the way he had with Harry. If he had ever had such a strong reaction to another person. He wasn’t sure that he had.

Something about Harry—his stranger—had drawn him in from the start. The way his hair curled over his forehead even though the divots in it showed that he frequently used his fingers to push it back. The way his eyes had glinted with mischief. The way he had been able to hold his own with Louis, and even put him on the defensive, a position Louis wasn’t used to being in. On top of all of that, Louis had been deathly attracted to Harry. He could feel the pull of it deep in his abdomen, grounding him.

Sadly, it was not meant to be. As Gemma and Niall had said, Harry was a flirt. He wasn’t looking for anything serious. He didn’t place any stock in soulmarks, while all Louis wanted was to find his soulmate.

Louis continued to brush Jasmine as he thought about the complications involved when one did not marry their soulmate. That was de rigueur; people of the upper ten thousand, and even people of the middle class decided to ignore their soulmarks and get married to whomever they chose all the time. But there was always a little voice in the back of Louis’ head that insisted his soulmate was out there somewhere.

He couldn’t imagine the awkwardness involved if he was to marry the first person he might presume to fall in love with, and then however many years later his actual soulmate entered his life and he found out. Did marriage vows hold true? Did biology trump monogamy and common decency?

Louis’ mother was fortunate in that her first husband had passed away before she had found her actual soulmate. Johannah’s desire for a family had overridden her desire to wait for that person when she was younger, and in the end her marriage to their father had been a pleasant, but lackluster one. She frequently talked about how her world had opened up and the sun had begun to shine when she met her second husband, John.

That was why, after her own experiences, she had always taught all of her children the value of their soulmarks.

Nothing could excite Louis less than a bland marriage to the wrong person. Maybe it was his mother’s insistence in speaking with them about it as a child, maybe it was some sort of heightened connection to the world around him, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he needed to wait for his soulmate.

That was why it was an irrefutable fact: Louis needed to forget about Harry Styles once and for all.


	3. Chapter 3

The wind was sharp on his cheeks as Harry rode hastily down the road to Sussex. His things and all the servants had gone ahead with Niall, Gemma, and their family who he was sure had already arrived at the Lethbridge’s the day before. Harry was very late.

After having disappeared for a year only to turn up again in time for the start of the season, he wasn’t wanting for mysterious circumstances. He knew that people were prone to gossip and had made up all sorts of nefarious and fantastical reasons that he was gone for so long. The whispers had floated around the ballrooms and down the corridors, following him everywhere.

In truth, he was still fairly young, unattached, and had simply enjoyed traveling. When the opportunity arose with his father’s trading company, Harry had taken it. Leaving behind his worldly possessions was freeing, and he had never felt more alive. His one regret was not being able to make it back for his sister’s wedding to his friend Niall, Earl of Westmeath, Harry reminded himself.

It was difficult to force himself back into the strict formalities of society after having lived without them for quite some time.

Gemma had assured him that he need not feel guilty. While she wished he would have been there, the ceremony was small and quick, merely a formality, as she and Niall had discovered that their marks matched. He knew where Gemma’s was, so just _how_ they discovered they were soulmates was information he very much did not want to know.

When he said as much, Niall had thrown his head back and laughed. Gemma Styles, ever the unflappable, had blushed.

Harry was glad it had been Niall that was his sister’s soulmate. He and Niall had known each other for some time, not well, but they had been casual acquaintances over the years. While it was a bit of a surprising match given Gemma’s nature, Harry was thankful that it was someone he had always had a good feeling about.

After getting to know Niall on a much more intimate, brotherly level through letters before he arrived home, and then in the following weeks since he had arrived, Harry came to realise that on the surface when they were out and about Niall was extroverted and carefree, but he was also witty and valued his private time at home. Once those traits began to rise to the surface, it was much easier to understand why fate had pushed him together with Harry’s sister.

It was a wonderful thing, really. There was an odd misconception amongst those that knew him who thought that because Harry wasn’t going to sit around resting on his laurels waiting for his soulmate to appear, he didn’t want to be with someone at all. That was very much untrue. Harry was, at heart, a romantic. He longed for a loving partner to share his life with, he just wasn’t going to use an odd birthmark matching system that had archaic values associated with it as a way to find them.

Soulmarks were only selectively accepted now amongst the ton. On the surface, everyone smiled and congratulated the couple, but as soon as the drapes were closed and the doors were shut, the rumours began to fly.

His mother in particular, having been married once before, was attacked for marrying above her station. It didn’t matter that because of his own father’s trade business they had more money than they ever knew what to do with; they didn’t have a title, and that was all that mattered.

After Harry’s father passed away, his longtime friend and business partner had taken over running the company. They both agreed that Harry wasn’t right to be the figurehead as he much preferred his smaller role. That was why Harry had been away for so long; he was out traveling the continent to find new goods that could be marketed and sold back in London.

Harry made a fairly modest salary compared to what his father’s estate had contained, and compared to his step-father’s own wealth. There was no reason for him to continue working, but he found that he enjoyed the greater purpose that it gave him. He also enjoyed being able to travel for leisure as well as work.

The money hadn’t mattered when her mother had met their step-father Robin Twist, Baron Ridley. Despite meeting much later in life, it was clear from the beginning that there was something special between them. Harry hadn’t found out they were actually soulmates until much later.

After their marriage, the tides had turned. Suddenly he heard outlandish rumors about how his mother had seduced and ensnared his step-father. Not something a son had longed to hear, especially one who was only eighteen and still wet behind the ears. It wasn’t in his nature to pick fights with the other boys, but he had always been sensitive especially when it came to his mother, and he had internalised their vicious gossip until it had festered.

He had long since worked past his anger, but he still clung to his rejection of waiting for his soulmate as a construct.

Waiting for one single person was also quite limiting. Harry found that he enjoyed courtship, the witty banter, the flirtation, and the rush of new infatuation too much to give it up at the moment. He tried his best to never mislead anyone in his intentions if possible, and he most definitely never wanted to insult anyone by being too forward and was discerning in his bed partners.

The very few people he had been to bed with knew going into their liaison with him what they were getting into, and so far only one had insisted on testing out their soulmarks, but to no avail.

Harry would never check someone’s soulmark before courting them, so if he ever did court his soulmate he wouldn’t know until they decided to become much more intimately acquainted with each other.

Thinking about flirtation—and what tended to follow—led Harry’s thoughts towards one person in particular: Louis Tomlinson.

Harry felt his horse respond to him sharply, startling him, and he realised his fists had been clenched around his ribbons.

The man was gorgeous but was very clear in his desire to wait for his soulmate. Or, he had been to Gemma, who had then told Harry about it when catching him up on who and what was new in her life after his year away. It was all very convoluted but had very effectively shut down any of Harry’s attraction to Louis when he had learned the man’s name.

The beautiful man that had helped him that morning in Hyde Park, whose physique had haunted Harry for hours after until the man in question had miraculously appeared in the dressmaker’s shop. The man who had been gentle and sure in comforting his horse, but strong and agile when hammering in her new shoe. The man who hadn’t been afraid of getting his hands and breeches dirty in the act of playing the Good Samaritan. The man who had bent over and inadvertently showed off the captivating and graceful curvature of his bum. The man who had flirted back when Harry had been unforgivably forward in the shop while playing with an innocuous piece of lace.

Yes, Harry had his attraction to Louis decidedly under control.

After stopping for lunch in Milford to let his horse rest Harry was back on the road again, a little over ten miles from the Lethbridge Estate. While he had begun his journey with the intent to get there as quickly as possible, he was beginning to feel apprehensive about the whole thing.

Not only had it been awhile since he last attended a house party, he was fairly certain Louis would be there with his family. Niall hadn’t mentioned him when he was telling Harry about the trip, but Harry didn’t see why he wouldn’t be there. Louis had more money than Harry and his family could ever dream of having and he had a title as well. In addition to all of that, he had numerous young, attractive, marriageable sisters. Harry imagined it was easier to quantify the parties Louis _wasn’t_ invited to over the course of the season instead of the ones he was.

It didn’t matter much to Harry, though. This party in particular would be large enough that he wouldn’t ever need to interact with Louis if he so desired. They had mutual friends, to be sure, but Harry’s family would be there, he could just concentrate on spending his time with them. When he sailed into Liverpool at the end of his year-long journey, he was perfectly placed to visit with his parents for a few weeks before coming down to London.

Their sleepy life in Cheshire was a wonderful respite before he rejoined society. But the world had beckoned, as did his sister.

Gemma was sure to tease him for being late, but he had made good time. He could see the beginning of the Lethbridge land just over the hill. They had a large deer park, so their land was extensive, but he had made it well before nightfall.

A short stone wall along the road designated the outermost edge of their fields and as he drew closer to the house, a familiar figure came galloping towards him, quite literally. Louis’ beautiful horse, Jasmine, drew up parallel and rode along the stone wall next to them clearly playing a game. The grooms must have wanted to let her out to roam in the pastures. All of the other horses were back closer to the stables, munching away calmly on the grass.

Harry’s heart lifted and he admired the way she ran as she pulled ahead of them, turning back around to run freely before coming back to join them again. Eventually one of the fences and rows of trees prevented her from going any further with them. Harry heard her huff, as he approached the turn into the long drive.

When he finally made it to the house, he dismounted and handed his own horse over to one of the grooms. He hesitated before going inside, still unsure about Louis being there. Even after their awkward encounter in the dress shop—after Harry had so blatantly flirted with him—they had been invited to many of the same parties and Harry had done his share of watching Louis from across ballrooms all over London. His habit was made much more problematic by the number of times Harry had caught Louis in return.

Sighing, Harry let himself be greeted and shown to his rooms by the butler. Upon arriving in the wing, he was told that his parents were on one side of him, and Niall and Gemma were just across the hall. He thanked the man before entering the bedroom intent on changing out of his riding clothes.

They stripped off easily enough, and he washed some of the dirt off of his face with fresh water from the basin. If he dressed at that moment, he would need to turn around and dress for dinner an hour later. Instead, after a long day of traveling, the plush bedding called to him.

Not bothering to dress after all, Harry drew back the eiderdown and laid down for a short nap.

 

Sometime later, much revived, Harry descended the stairs dressed for dinner. Thankfully, the first person he spotted amongst the crowd was his mother, Anne.

“Harry, darling!” she cried as she opened her arms to embrace him. “When did you finally arrive?”

Genuinely, he was only a day late. He let himself be drawn in and squeezed tightly in her arms. “This afternoon, but I chose to rest my head after my ride.”

“Very well, I’m happy you’re taking care of yourself, dear,” she replied. Robin smiled in greeting over his shoulder.

Gemma and Niall descended soon after, and Gemma too questioned where he had been between his arrival and the dinner party. While he loved his family and appreciated their concern, he had answered only to himself for the past year, and since he had been back, there were times that he began to feel constrained.

The ladies were drawn into another conversation, but Niall stayed behind.

“Rest your head?” His friend raised an eyebrow at him before gesturing subtly across the parlor towards where Louis and his two sisters were standing in a small clump with another man Harry was pretty sure was Liam Payne. “Are you sure your hesitance to join the fray didn’t have anything to do with Louis?”

Harry’s spine immediately stiffened. “I was tired from the ride, I swear it,” he replied.

“I saw the two of you in the shop that day. There is something else going on,” Niall whispered so Harry’s mother and sister wouldn’t overhear, a courtesy for which Harry was very grateful.

“We barely know each other,” Harry lied haltingly.

“That may be true, but you need not have known each other’s name to _know_ each other,” Niall winked.

Harry nudged him in jest, “I don’t need any more input from you, brother.”

They both chuckled, but Niall’s face eventually softened. “There is no better man than Louis Tomlinson,” he said earnestly.

Harry hesitated, unsure how much he wanted to divulge lest he reveal the extent to which he had mulled over the subject. “You know him, you’ve told me about him. He’s looking for his soulmate. I am not. It’s very simple.”

“Life is rarely simple,” Niall replied, uncharacteristically serious.

The bell rang to call them into dinner, and Harry needed to find out who he was escorting. Tables were seated by social rank, of which he had none. His sister, having married an Earl, and his mother, having married a Baron, were both titled and would, therefore, be sitting much farther up than he would.

While it was disconcerting to be separated and seated farther away from them, he usually enjoyed his lesser end of the table. Growing up, unless there was a severely disproportioned party and either one of them was needed elsewhere, he and Gemma used to accompany each other in and sit together. This was his first dinner party where that was not the given arrangement and he found himself once again apprehensive.

As he scanned the room he turned to find three sets of piercing, bright, Tomlinson-blue eyes pinning him where he stood.

One of the two sisters separated from the group and crossed the parlor to approach him.

“Hello,” she said serenely. “I’m Felicité, and I believe you’re to escort me.” Her voice was beautiful and soft, and she was young. He admired her courage and general disregard for propriety in coming over to speak to him herself before they had been properly introduced. The proper thing would have been for Louis, or presumably Gemma or Niall, to introduce them, so Harry was doubly grateful. Something about her immediately put Harry at ease.

Harry bowed his head courteously. “Hello, Felicité. I’m Harry and I’m very pleased to meet you.” When she had finished a miniscule curtsey, Harry crooked his right elbow and offered it to her. “Shall we?”

“Yes, thank you.”

They glided through the parlor entryway, down the hallway, and into the formal dining room.

Harry was filled with curiosity about the mysterious young lady on his arm as they waited in line to be seated. “Excuse my ignorance, but how does one such as you come to be seated on the unfashionable end of the table with one such as me?”

Felicité smirked at him. “I am the second oldest sister. Louis could be the king of England, and I would still be at the unfashionable end.”

Her quiet cheek was surprising. “Well,” he said, searching for a way to respond, “at least you’ll always be more fashionable than your next youngest sisters.”

She giggled as she lifted the back of her glove-clad hand up to her mouth to stifle it. “And you are wicked.”

“That has yet to be disproven.” Harry winked. They were finally shown to their places, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t very familiar with the rest of the guests seated around them but they seemed to be a friendly enough sort, and Felicité was proving to be an excellent companion so far. This dinner would hopefully not be so torturous.

Two courses in and his prediction was correct. The conversation on their end of the table was lively, and Harry was thoroughly enjoying his first foray back into society. He might not mind it if this was the outcome.

There was only one thing that was slightly disconcerting, and that was the way Louis was glaring at him from the other end of the table.

As a Viscount, Louis was seated very close to their host and hostess of the evening, so it was difficult for him to see or hear what was being said. All he had done so far was stare daggers at Harry, and Harry could only guess that it had something to do with his being seated next to Felicité.

If it was anyone else, it wouldn’t bother Harry in the slightest, but because it was Louis, he felt as though his skin was crawling with awareness. Something about Louis, he wasn’t sure what, made him want to goad the man even further.

Harry leaned in closer to his companion. “Your brother seems to find something particularly fascinating down at this end of the table.”

They both turned their heads to where Louis was sitting. His glare softened and his eyes widened at being caught out. Felicité lifted her gloved hand and waggled her fingers cheekily in her brother’s direction with a smirk on her face.

“Is he like this all the time?” Harry asked, knowing firsthand how protective older siblings can be.

Felicité paused for a moment, regarding him. “Do you know, he isn’t usually. I’m not sure why he’s so worked up this evening.”

“Well, I’m sorry to cause such a bother,” he added.

She brushed his concern aside. “Don’t be. I’ve been ever so grateful for your company.” There was a seven or eight year age difference between them, which wasn’t so unusual, but he was glad that the platonic feeling between them was so clearly mutual.

Over the course of the evening, Harry had discovered just how witty and intelligent Felicité was. All the talk he had ever heard about the Tomlinsons was about Louis or his sister Charlotte, and from the few tidbits he had heard, Felicité was the quietest of the three that were out in society. Harry had concluded that she kept to herself more, even after speaking with her for the duration of the evening, and he felt privileged to have been given a glimpse of her personality.

When the meal was done, the ladies all retired, and the gentlemen were escorted into a sitting room to take their port. Harry found Niall, and they sat back in two of the deeper armchairs in one corner of the room.

“Horan,” Louis said from behind Harry’s chair as he approached with a glass of the deep-ruby liquid in his hand.

Niall lit up. “Lou! How was dinner?” Harry resisted the urge to snort.

“Fine,” Louis replied as he came around the side of Harry’s chair in order to join them. He moved to sit on the settee a few feet away, just as another figure joined them.

“Horan,” the man nodded with a smile on his face. Harry thought it was comical the way Niall naturally drew people to him. Next thing they knew, they were going to have every gentleman in the sitting room nodding and gruffly greeting Niall, overpopulating their corner and leaving the rest of the room empty.

“Payne, how are you?” Before the other man was able to respond, Niall continued. “Have you met Harry? Harry Styles? This is Liam Payne, son of the Earl of Stafford.”

The man’s eyes were suddenly alight with curiosity as he stood up again to lean over and shake Harry’s hand. Harry met him in the middle, and the man’s grip was warm and strong.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Harry said.

“Likewise. Please, call me Liam,” he added. Harry nodded in acknowledgment as Liam sat back on the settee with Louis.

“Did you enjoy the meal, Styles?” Louis asked cutting through the pleasantries. Both Liam and Niall started at his sharp tone.

Harry smirked. “Your sister was excellent company. Please pass along my compliments.” The words were benign, but he knew what he had made it sound like. His response was clearly not the correct one because Louis very quickly began to look as though he was contemplating homicide.

Niall looked very confused. “What’s wrong with you, Tomlinson?”

“Nothing,” Louis ground out. Harry could see that he was genuinely affected and went to apologise, but just as he did, uproarious laughter rang up from the other side of the room.

A group of young bucks was gathered around the same way they were. While none of their group could be classified as old - Harry was sure he was the youngest at twenty-five - they were certainly more seasoned than that lot.

There was something a little too polished about them, all probably fresh out of university if any of them had gone.

Harry mentally dismissed them, they weren’t of his concern and turned back to his own companions.

“Louis.” It still felt a little too intimate to call him that, despite the way he insisted when they were first introduced. “I apologise for all of the teasing. Your sister is a lovely young woman, and I truly see her as nothing more than a friend.”

Louis bristled at first before frowning. “What’s the matter with her?” he asked indignantly.

Harry sputtered for a moment before he saw Louis’ face relax into a grin. “I deserved that,” he conceded begrudgingly.

Louis shrugged but didn’t say anything more while Niall and Liam looked on confused. The air settled amongst them, and Louis changed the subject, asking Niall about one of his horses who had been behaving oddly the day before on their journey south.

Louis was the only one amongst them who had taken any port and when he was finished, they all stood up in collective agreement to turn in for the night.

They made their way upstairs and split off, Harry and Niall turning towards their wing. When Louis and Liam were safely out of earshot, Niall pounced.

“And you said there was nothing between you,” he said accusingly.

“There isn’t,” Harry insisted.

Niall scoffed. “Then how do you explain tonight?”

“He was just being overprotective of his sister.” Harry shrugged, not understanding it himself when Felicité had so specifically mentioned that it was out of character for Louis.

Niall shook his head in disbelief. “He’s not that kind of brother.”

“I’m not sure what to say, Niall,” Harry explained.

His brother-in-law studied him shrewdly for another few moments before finally turning towards his room. “Very well,” he sighed.

“Goodnight, brother,” Harry called after him.

“Goodnight, brother,” Niall replied, before disappearing into the guest room.

 

The next morning, Harry was roused earlier than he preferred when on a leisurely trip to the country. The hunt was always his least favorite part of any house party, but he had promised his step-father that he would accompany him this time. Robin knew how he felt about fox hunting, but also desired to spend a little more time with Harry, and Harry saw no issue with indulging him. Harry would go for the ride, both for the fresh air in his lungs and the general gentlemanly camaraderie.

This time, their party would only be out for the day as it was merely a diversion instead of a true shooting party. That meant, though, that the organisers wished to take advantage of any and all daylight.

Harry blinked at the just barely dawning sun as he sighed and his valet Charles came in to help him get dressed.

“Morning, Sir,” the man said cheerily. Harry was usually an early riser, but this was a bit much for him after the amount of wine he consumed the night before. It hadn’t seemed like that much at the time.

Harry didn’t know his new valet very well, but he was nice enough after the few weeks he had been in Harry’s employ. Harry didn’t have his own staff for the man to try and fit in with, but he seemed to be acclimating to Niall and Gemma’s staff well enough while Harry stayed with them.

He supposed at some point he would need to find his own bachelor lodgings in London. But that was not a problem to be tackled at the present moment, he thought, as he shook his head to clear it. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and began to stretch while Charles fussed with his riding gear.

When he was thoroughly put together, and plied with tea, Harry was on his way. The rest of the gentlemen were gathered in the foyer or heading towards the stables eager to get on their way.

He searched for his step-father, but couldn’t see anyone he recognised. He finally spotted Niall, Louis, and Liam, and realised at once how grateful he was to have people there that he felt comfortable being with during these sorts of things. Awkwardness with Louis aside, he loved spending time with Niall, and Liam had been friendly the night before. Harry gathered that Liam was Louis’ best friend from when they were young. Niall as well, but he had come over from Ireland for schooling, and joined their group much later.

Harry bounded down the front steps and made his way towards them, riding gloves in hand. All three men turned to acknowledge him when he approached, opening up their circle for him to join them.

“Morning,” he greeted them in turn.

“Morning, Harry,” Niall replied quickly before turning back to where Liam seemed to be gaping at Louis, open-mouthed.

Liam gestured expansively at Niall. “I expected this from him, so I’m not surprised or disappointed. But you?”

Louis laughed before crossing his arms and leaning up against the tree he was standing near. Harry couldn’t help but get distracted by the easy confidence he possessed, casually leaning against the bark of the tree in such a way. Harry didn’t know what was happening, but he could tell all of them knew Liam meant what he was saying in jest.

“Sorry, Li,” Louis replied squinting into the early morning sunlight. Harry still didn’t know him well, but he didn’t look very apologetic.

Liam grunted moodily and Niall cackled.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked Niall in a not very subtle aside. Niall didn’t have the chance to respond before Liam interjected.

“These two aren’t coming with us,” he exclaimed.

Harry could guess why Niall wasn’t coming—knowing his own sister was to blame—but before he could stop himself he looked at Louis with concern that he was sure was visible on his face. “You’re not coming?”

Louis cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “No, no I’m not. I’m not one for hunting. I will usually go along for the ride, but one of Niall’s horses is sick.”

Harry was slightly confused. After their unconventional meeting, he knew Louis was good with horses, but he wasn’t sure why he needed to be the one to stay behind with Niall’s sick horse. Surely the Lethbridges had a veterinarian they could call upon for that.

There were more questions dancing on the tip of his tongue, but the horn sounded for the hunt to gather. Niall broke away from the group, heading back to the house, while Harry, Liam, and Louis headed for the stables to wait for the horses to be led out. Harry and Liam so they could mount, and Louis so he could wait until the stables were cleared out.

One of the grooms in line came out with Harry’s horse first. Louis made a questioning noise in the back of his throat.

“No Daisy?” he asked. “I was going to check how the shoe was fitting.”

Harry went warm all over thinking about the inappropriate things he had said to Louis that first morning. “Daisy’s lovely, but she’s fairly old and slow. I try not to take her much farther than the city if I can help it. This is Genevieve,” he proclaimed, infinitely proud of the beautiful bay mare.

Louis walked up to her immediately as the groom inspected her one last time. “Hello, Genevieve, you’re a very beautiful girl, you are.”

Harry felt his heart lodge somewhere near his throat as he watched Louis fawn over the horse and his voice drop down to a whisper so just the horse could hear him. She whinnied and tucked her face closer to Louis’ body.

“He’s been good with them since we were very young,” Liam said quietly as they watched Louis continue to interact with the animal.

“Oh, um, of course,” Harry replied, startled out of his observance of Louis.

“Question for you, Harry,” Liam asked with a smirk. “Who is Daisy?”

Once again, Harry faltered. “My horse. One of my other horses.”

“Ah, I see,” Liam replied, waiting for a beat. “And how did Louis come to be concerned about her shoe?”

“He was kind enough to replace it for me one morning a few weeks ago, when we first met,” Harry answered calmly.

Liam nodded, but Harry still felt uneasy. “That is interesting because unless Niall was misinformed, I thought you met in a dress shop. Must have been hard to change a shoe in there.”

Harry sucked in a breath and looked at Liam with wide eyes as a blush spread across his cheeks. _Shit_. There was never any agreement between them to keep their meeting and subsequent flirtation a secret, so he wasn’t really betraying anyone’s confidence. But that was certainly what it felt like.

Liam clapped him on the shoulder. “I can already tell today will be an adventure,” he said as he greeted his own horse, quickly and easily seating himself in the saddle.

Taking a deep breath and trying to tamp down his racing heartbeat, Harry joined Louis standing next to the saddle.

He unsubtly cleared his throat. “I really must be going,” he said quietly.

“Oh yes, of course.” Louis pulled his hands off of Genevieve’s coat as though she had burned him.

It took everything in Harry to seat himself gracefully. Thankfully, his legs were cooperating despite feeling like jelly.

“We’ll return this evening,” he said, turning back to where Louis had been standing, but the viscount was already gone.

Harry sighed and gathered the reins in his hands, digging his heels in and turning Genevieve towards the caravan where he finally saw his step-father had joined the fray. Liam was close behind, and with the second sounding of the horn, they were off.

 

Fox hunting was essential to gamekeepers in the country because it controlled the population. When the foxes were overpopulated they needed to search for food, and frequently attacked smaller livestock of farmers and landowners in the area.

Knowing the practice held a purpose didn’t mean the actuality sat any better with Harry, and by the time the party stopped for the midday meal, he was regretting not staying behind with Niall if only to save himself from the reality of watching people carrying around their conquests.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t appreciated the company. He and Liam were thoroughly enjoying themselves and had maintained an amicable conversation full of the pleasantries of getting to know a new friend.

The whole group settled around the spread of heavy breads and cheeses that the servants had put out for them. Harry chewed thoughtfully and pondered the men missing from the hunt, the ones who stayed behind at the manor. Suddenly, he realised that he had Louis’ best friend alone, with his guard down, and had the chance to settle his curiosities about the man. Maybe once he did, Harry’s fascination with the man would finally fade away.

“Liam, I hope you don’t find me rude,” he started, trying to decide how to form the question. Liam just scoffed at him and waited. “Does the viscount have something against me?”

“The viscount?” Liam asked. “Louis?”

“Yes, Louis.”

Liam stayed quiet, presumably thinking over what he was going to say. The pure act of Liam not rushing to reassure him meant that Harry was correct.

“There’s—I don’t think he’s avoiding you,” Liam said, but his tone left much to be desired.

Harry took a chance, suddenly desperate for answers. “It sounds as though you have more to say.”

Liam sighed and took a sip of ale. “I’ve heard Gemma and Niall speak about your lack of faith in soulmates. If I had to wager a guess, it would be that. Louis doesn’t share those views.”

Harry leaned back on his forearms, closed his eyes, and let the sunshine wash over him. “It’s not that I lack faith. I simply don’t let them dictate my life and who I am to court.”

Liam remained quiet again for a moment. “I can’t say I blame you for that. I feel the same way myself.”

That was news to Harry. “And does Louis know that?”

“He does.” Liam nodded. “He’s my closest confidant.”

Silence reigned as Robin passed Harry an ale as well. Harry wasn’t sure how to continue his line of questioning, and Liam was frowning into his mug.

“I’m not sure why, then, that Louis is treating you the way he has,” Liam confessed. “I, too, thought he might be using the horse as an excuse. He has a way with them, to be sure, but he didn’t need to stay behind. The grooms could have taken care of the animal.”

Harry couldn’t help the stab of hurt that shot through him, even though he too did not want to get tangled up with Louis. He should be grateful that the man was avoiding him. They were able to be amicable when needed as they had proven so far. There was no reason for it to go any further beyond that between them. Harry should be satisfied.

He wasn’t.

“Why does Louis value finding his soulmate so much?” he blurted out. His questions were probing, rude, and inappropriate. He should be ashamed of himself. And, yet.

Liam squinted into the sun watching as the huntsman led the pack of foxhounds to water. “The whole family is fixed upon the idea. I love them as though they’re my own flesh and blood, but it’s somewhat of a quirk about them.”

Harry settled back to listen more closely, not wanting to seem too eager.

“Their mother had been married once before, to Louis’ father, who passed away. That’s why he’s already inherited his title.” Clarity dawned for Harry, who hadn’t thought about succession. It followed, though, that someone had to have passed the title onto him.

“Were they not soulmates?” he asked.

Liam shook his head. “No, she was young and wanted to start a family. She knew her husband now, a Mr. Rutherford, for quite some time before the Viscount passed away. She had always sensed a deeper connection with him, and they discovered much later that they were soulmates. They have two young children together.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in shock. “Louis has half-siblings?”

“Oh yes, but would never call them that. They’re six, Ernest and Doris, and to him, they are as full-fledged as his other four sisters. He is vastly protective over them, and very attached.” Liam grinned, his eyes disappearing into half moons with the force of his joy.

“How very sweet,” Harry murmured. He hoped Liam was not finished talking about Louis, but again, did not want to pry or actively portray the intense fascination he had with the man.

Liam took another sip of ale, emptying the mug before setting it aside. “Johannah claims that she was so moved by finding her own soulmate, that she would like her children to do the same. But in reality, I think she has always enjoyed the romantic and fanciful notion of it because it was a lesson she instilled in them long before she found John Rutherford.”

His explanation had taken a slightly derisive tone, and Liam had made his view on soulmarks clear earlier, but pressing him on the subject finally felt like a line that Harry should not cross. There was more bitterness in Liam’s tone than he had heard in the entire twenty-four hours he had known him.

“That was why she had so fiercely supported him in his decision to call off marriage to Lavinia. A marriage that she herself had been arranging,” Liam said matter of factly. As soon as he said it, though, he abruptly stopped talking.

“Lavinia?”

Liam scrunched his face in disgust. “Lady Lavinia Damon-Cowles Tattingford, Duchess of Marnmouth.”

Harry scoffed in disbelief. “Bagged herself a Duke, then?”

“Only weeks after Louis called everything off. They weren’t soulmates, and she isn’t her new husband’s soulmate either. His passed away when they were young.” Liam bowed his head, and Harry could feel the genuine regret in his tone for the man. As much as Harry rejected them on principle, no one deserved the kind of sorrow that came from losing one’s soulmate after they already found each other.

“I’ve already said too much,” Liam said apologetically as he stood up and surveyed the picnic area. Other gentlemen were beginning to stand up as well, and the manservants with them quickly cleared the meal away so that they could set off again.

Harry was grateful for all of the information he had already been given, even if it did still paint a fairly incomplete picture of the man that was Louis Tomlinson. He shouldn’t even have asked as much as he did.

The desire to know more and propriety warred within Harry, and he vowed resolutely to leave the topic alone. There was no reason for him to be so fascinated with Louis. It would never affect him in any way, and the last thing he wanted was to fan the flames of gossip and rumour.

 

Mounted once again, they set off for the afternoon hunt. Harry was happy to ride along, following the groups of riders, and enjoying the beautiful day.

Everything was going smoothly until a young man ceased paying attention and redirected his horse very quickly, startling Genevieve and almost sending Harry flying from the saddle.

The young man was tall and lanky with slicked-back brown hair and a strong profile and couldn’t have been much older than twenty. There was a slight powder burn on his sleeve that spoke to the zeal he had shown in hunting down his prey all morning. Once they had righted themselves, he sneered at Harry. “Watch where you’re going, if you’re not going to do anything useful.”

With those biting words, he turned and rode off. The whole thing was so ridiculous, Harry could barely hold in a chuckle as he leaned down to run his hand over Genevieve’s coat and whisper soothing nonsensical words in her ears.

“Who was that?” he asked Liam as the other man pulled his horse up alongside them.

Liam rolled his eyes. “Percy Crawford.”

“Crawford?” Harry had never heard of the man.

“Son of some earl or other, I’m not up on my Debrett’s. Utterly ridiculous. All of his friends as well,” Liam nodded in their direction.

Harry watched with growing distaste as the young man joined said friends. “Who are they? His friends, that is.”

“The one next to him is Ambrose Tennesely, a good friend of Louis’ family. A cousin, possibly? I never can remember. The rest are all of their posse, and I have trouble minding them. No-good rakes, the lot of them.” Liam shrugged his shoulders and watched the young men for another moment.

The hunt was called again and they all began to ride further east. Eventually, they would return to the manor. Harry was beginning to hope it was sooner rather than later.


	4. Chapter 4

Much to Harry’s disappointment, he was not set to escort Miss Felicité into dinner again. Apparently, even more guests had arrived, necessitating some shuffling of partners and seating.

Mrs. Bleta Hallowell. Bleta. It was an unusual name, Harry thought to himself. Certainly, one he had never heard before, even in all his travels on the continent.

The butler located their host and Mrs. Lethbridge kindly led Harry over to a woman that was smaller in stature but held herself tall with pride. She had beautiful olive coloring and dark sultry eyes.

“Mrs. Hallowell?” Mrs. Lethbridge called to get the woman’s attention.

The woman smiled politely at Mrs. Lethbridge before looking just beyond to where Harry was standing and giving him a quick once-over.

“Mrs. Hallowell, this is Harry Styles. He’s to take you into dinner this evening. Mr. Styles, Mrs. Hallowell.”

Harry lowered himself in a bow over her hand as customary. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, looking up and meeting her gaze.

Suddenly, the woman’s face changed and she had a knowing glint in her eyes as though she had already figured out Harry’s deepest darkest secrets. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Harry straightened his back and crooked his arm the same way he had done for Felicité the night before. While Felicité, for all her maturity, was still a young and innocent miss, this woman was not. Though, Harry didn’t think she was that much older in age than Miss Tomlinson.

Introductions made, Mrs. Lethbridge departed and silence settled between them as they waited for their turn to enter the dining room.

“Will you think me rude if I ask a personal question?” Harry asked.

Mrs. Hallowell tilted her head to look up at him, “Of course not.”

“The butler said your first name was Bleta, and it’s so unique, I was curious as to its origins.”

His companion’s eyes lit up. “I am Albanian by birth, and in Albanian, it means ‘Bee.’ We moved to England when my brother and I were very young, but we go back to visit when able.”

“Bee?” Harry clarified.

She nodded. “Yes, my husband and many of my friends call me Bebe. You are free to if you would like,” she smirked.

“Thank you.” Harry couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. Something about Bebe’s countenance had put him immediately at ease. She was feisty and fun, and Harry was glad he once again was saddled with a dinner partner he would enjoy spending time with that evening.

“Now, Mr. Harry Styles. You have asked a personal question, and know a bit more about me. Do you mind if I ask you one in return?”

Harry shook his head and they rounded the dining table to where the footmen were directing them. “Of course not,” he replied. They paused as their chairs were pulled out for them, and Harry made sure Bebe was seated comfortably.

“What are your intentions with my friend Viscount Loring?”

Harry sputtered, too shocked to say anything. There was not a single person in society that did not know or feel protective over Louis Tomlinson, he was discovering.

Bebe threw her head back and laughed causing quite a stir as the diners around them turned to glare at them, utterly scandalised.

Harry cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “I have no intentions with him whatsoever,” he hissed.

While he had hoped that would be the end of it, he knew those hopes were unfounded. Bebe’s eyes glinted in the candlelight and she leaned into him. “There’s no need to be coy.” She leaned back and paused, smiling at him like the cat who caught the canary. “I saw the two of you this morning before the hunt, you know.”

Once again, Harry was stumped. “There was nothing to see before we left. We barely spoke two words to each other.”

“That doesn’t matter, I could see it anyway. Where I come from, there’s a bit of mysticism in our veins. My family has the sight.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Traveling through France and Italy meant passing through small villages where superstitions ran rampant. Even parts of England—Ireland and Scotland especially—were big believers in the fae. Niall loved to talk about the time he saw a pixie when he was a child.

“Really?” he asked.

She shook her head on a laugh. “No, not really.” Harry’s delight was dashed. “But you don’t need the sight to see a certain connection between the two of you.”

Harry shook his head and turned his attention to the dish that was being served on the section of the table in front of him. “You’re wrong. We’re merely acquaintances, nothing more.”

Bebe nodded placatingly before tucking into her own food. “Have you met his sisters, then?”

“I’ve only been introduced to Miss Felicité, but I’ve seen his sister, Miss Charlotte, I believe, on two occasions now.” Harry flushed remembering their collective trip to the modiste. “I’ve been abroad for some time, and only just returned, so I have been very slowly reentering society.”

“Styles… Styles... Oh, yes. Your sister must be Gemma, then?” Harry nodded as Bebe continued. “She and Lord Horan caused quite the stir then, didn’t they? With their soulmarks. I wasn’t able to attend the ceremony as my husband had business and I was traveling with him.”

Harry had been wondering about her mysterious husband, as Mrs. Lethbridge had definitely introduced her with her married name. He also wagered a guess that Hallowell was not an exceedingly popular surname in Albania given the exotic quality to her first name. “Is he away on business now?”

Bebe nodded, but could not contain her excitement. “He has been gone for a fortnight, but should be joining us tomorrow.”

The love shining out of her eyes was clear when she spoke about him. “While I shall look forward to meeting him, I shall also be disappointed. It seems as though I am destined to shuffle through a new dinner partner every night while we are here with all of the coming and going.”

Bebe tittered a laugh and rested her gloved hand on his arm. “I’m afraid I cannot be sorry for that,” she said. “But it looks as though you will be making the debutantes among us very happy.” She nodded her head to bring Harry’s attention to a cluster of young women who were watching them intently.

Just beyond them, sat Felicité Tomlinson, paired for dinner with none other than Percy Crawford. Harry bit back a sneer and did a quick appraisal of her expression and body language to make sure she was not outwardly displaying any signs of discomfort. When he detected none, he turned back to Bebe with a sigh.

She sighed exaggeratedly right back to tease him. “Come now, surely having partners fawning over you is no hardship for a handsome young man such as yourself.”

“I’m not sure how much you have heard about my family, and I don’t wish to sound vain—I know it’s not appropriate to discuss such things so openly.” Bebe had grown slightly more serious, but not unfriendly. Her face was kind and open, and she seemed receptive to hearing what Harry had to say. “To be frank, my family has quite a lot of money. Many of the parents of these young women are only throwing themselves at me to try and settle debts. They would prefer money _and_ a title, but needs must when marriage hunting.” Harry was quite sick of it if he was being honest.

“My husband, too, has one and not the other,” she replied with a dreamy look on her face. “I had no need for either, but needs must when such a man falls in your lap.” She nudged Harry cheekily, and he had to bury his snort in his hand.

Given the way she spoke so openly about her husband only moments before, Harry found that he felt more at ease knowing that she wasn’t expecting anything of him. Which was the crux of the problem she was asking about if he really got to the root of it.

“These young women—some of them very young—do anything and everything they can to try and prove I’m their soulmate. Much of the reason behind my trip to the continent was the need to get away from society. Women and men have tried tricking me into compromising them or tried catching me in states of various undress to see my soulmark. It’s tiring.” Harry sighed again, not sure why he had unloaded on Bebe so dramatically. He normally kept those sorts of thoughts to himself.

“Oh, my dear.” Bebe pressed her warm silk-clad palm against his forearm again, more deliberately this time. “I don’t doubt people have been underhanded and conniving, but I do wish you wouldn’t sell yourself so short,” she said with faux melancholy.

Harry was confused. “Sell myself short?”

“I’m sure your money is lovely, but have you ever stopped to consider that you’re incredibly handsome?” She was holding in a laugh again.

The thought had genuinely never dawned on Harry that these debutantes were simply attracted to him, and suddenly laughter was bubbling up in his chest. Soon after that, he and Bebe were drowning in giggles hunched over their fish courses. He wasn’t sure what was so funny about what she had said, and it certainly was self-serving, but when he thought about the simplicity of it all, it set him off again.

They moved on to lighter topics for the rest of the meal, and while Harry enjoyed himself, and had a wonderful time laughing with Bebe, he couldn’t help but watch Felicité with Percy Crawford out of the corner of his eye. It was probably nothing, just the luck—or unluck, he supposed—of the draw. She looked to be perfectly content throughout the meal, though, so he told himself not to worry and enjoy the company around him.

As the dessert was brought out, there was a hullabaloo at the head of the table. The butler came into the dining room and politely interrupted Mrs. Lethbridge’s conversation. Harry couldn’t hear what was said, but she looked a bit put out as she stood from her seat and exited the dining room with the butler on her heels.

Conversations around the table resumed and eventually, she returned explaining to those seated around her, once again, in a way that Harry could not hear. He did see Liam nudge Louis ever so slightly under the table, but wasn’t sure what would warrant such a reaction.

 

Later that evening, Harry found himself alone in the same corner of the sitting room they had occupied the night before. Niall had retired early with Gemma who hadn’t been feeling well throughout the meal, Liam was caught up in a card game with higher stakes than Harry was comfortable with, and Louis was nowhere to be found.

Harry swirled the glass of port in his hand a few times, studying the way the liquid glinted in the firelight.

“Oh,” was all he heard to make him lift his gaze.

“Hello,” he greeted cautiously. “Won’t you join me?” He tried to be as casual and careful in his request as possible, making sure to not sound too predatory and cursing the tug of warmth he felt from hearing Louis’ voice. Harry was absolutely determined that they should be civil acquaintances.

Louis darted a glance between Harry and the proffered side-by-side wingback chair. “Ye-yes. Of course.”

Harry had faith that they possessed the ability to be casual friends. “Did you enjoy your meal?” he asked Louis as soon as he had settled in the chair next to him.

Louis hesitated. “I did,” he replied. The conversation lulled.

“The roast—”

“I saw—”

They both started speaking at the same time. Harry gestured towards Louis with his glass indicating that he should continue first.

“I saw that you were seated with Bebe,” he said, his voice dripping like honey. The light from the fire bounced off his profile before he turned to face Harry fully. His eyes were usually such a startling blue, but in this environment, Harry found that he couldn’t quite see the distinct color. That was a shame.

“I was, yes. She’s wonderful,” he replied.

Louis smiled wide—one of the first expressions of genuine joy Harry had ever seen him exhibit—and it was almost blinding. “Her husband is one of my close friends. Their estate is next to ours.”

“In Yorkshire?” Harry asked. “That’s lovely.”

“He should be here tomorrow,” Louis added enthusiastically.

Harry nodded. “So she said.”

They both took a sip of their port to fill the silence that fell amongst them again. The pause in conversation was significantly less awkward this time, but still mildly uncomfortable. Harry didn’t want to seem like he was flirting with Louis the way he had before, so most of the topics he could think of were inane small talk.

Normally he didn’t mind a bit of chatter, and he probably wouldn’t have if he was speaking with anyone else. Because it was Louis, something about safe topics like the weather seemed hollow and unnecessary.

“Niall’s horse,” Harry burst out, immediately regretting his lack of filter. He must have sounded crazed based on the way Louis started at the sound of his voice and a few heads turning their way. “How fares Niall’s horse?” he finished in a much more reserved manner.

Louis, too, latched on to the neutral conversation topic. “Much better, she’s much better now.”

“That’s nice,” Harry said, studying his glass again.

“What was—”

“It was—”

They started speaking at the same time again, but this time Louis gestured for Harry to go first.

“I was just wondering what afflicted her?”

Louis nodded and gave him a relieved grin. “Very simple, her joints were inflamed. Too much hard work on the way down here, it would seem.”

“Is she an older mare?” Harry asked.

Louis knit his brows. “No, actually. I’m going to have to look into Niall’s paperwork. She’s fairly young, which means it might be a genetic condition. I’m not familiar with the man who brokered the sale, but it may be the case that his paperwork was fraudulent.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, now concerned. “That’s not good.”

“No,” Louis agreed, relaxing into the chair a bit more in thought. “Niall can certainly afford to keep her even if she can’t work, but not everyone would have been in that position.”

Harry was sick at the thought of that poor horse being abandoned. His brother-in-law and sister would never, but it was true he was not privy to their financial situation. There shouldn’t be an issue, but one never knew.

Louis unintentionally assuaged his fears almost immediately. “Even if they couldn’t keep her, I would certainly take her.”

Harry absolutely refused to acknowledge the endeared flutters the sprung up somewhere in the vicinity of his abdomen.

“That would be very generous of you, Louis,” Harry said quietly.

Louis’ eyebrows raised a bit in surprise as he finally met Harry’s gaze. The heaviness that Harry had seen in them what felt like ages ago when they were in the dress shop had returned. That look, letting it affect him, was the precursor to the flirting Harry was so desperate to avoid. They had barely spent a total of fifteen minutes alone over the course of the visit so far, and yet they were already dancing closer and closer to falling back into that pattern.

That pattern was very dangerous, and not something Harry could afford to get sucked into. And yet, he could no more give up these small moments with Louis than he could never speak to his sister again. Furthermore, that wasn’t a fair comparison given that none of his feelings he was attempting to ignore about Louis were anything close to brotherly.

Harry was lost in his thoughts and therefore not paying attention to the room at large. If he had been, he would have been able to sense another person’s approach, instead of being startled the way he was.

Ambrose Tennesley came into his field of vision rather suddenly, calling Louis’ name and interrupting Harry’s thoughts and their first solid friendly conversation.

The intruder draped himself across the end of the settee that Louis and Liam had occupied the night before—and there really was no better word for it than draped. With a grace Harry could never dream of possessing, Mr. Tennesley carefully folded himself so that his arms were crossed over the arm of the settee, his legs were tucked neatly to the side, and he presented an almost dainty and feminine picture that was overtly enticing.

“Louis, darling.” His voice dripped with a dangerous excess of sweetness. “Won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Up close, the man had long, shapely limbs and a trim figure and his skin was a fashionable ghostly pale contrasted strikingly with jet black hair and features; a true English rose if Harry had ever seen one.

“Ambrose Tennesley, this is Harry Styles,” Louis clipped, politely. “Harry Styles, Ambrose is a cousin of mine somewhere on my father’s side.”

“Never can keep track of where,” Ambrose added, holding his hand out for Harry to take briefly. “ _Enchanté_.”

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. Every son and daughter of every aristocrat had a French tutor, and almost none of them tried to use it for show like Ambrose. He was sure the man expected that Harry didn’t know French based on his lack of a title when Louis addressed him.

“ _Tout le plaisir est pour moi._ ” Harry had learned French the old fashioned way, reading on his own, and then traveling in France.

Ambrose smiled at him and then turned to Louis, very clearly dismissing Harry’s presence. “I’m here for you,” he said, his phrase loaded with innuendo. “The Duchess of Marnmouth has arrived and is asking for you. Us, I should say.”

Harry watched as Louis’ spine stiffened, and he sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Very well,” was all he said before he stood up. “Harry, if you’ll excuse us.”

Harry stood blindly out of politeness as Louis did, not knowing what else to say. Their conversation before they had been interrupted had been nothing special. There was nothing about it or Harry’s presence that required him to keep Louis’ attention.

“Yes, of course. Goodnight,” he replied to Louis’ back as the two men were walking away briskly.

When he sat back down, now very suddenly alone, Harry slumped against his chair.

His chest was on fire with an emotion that he very much did not want to face. Jealousy. It was jealousy that he was most certainly feeling. Ambrose had swooped in, batted his lashes in Louis’ direction once, and Louis had followed him. Harry picked up his port glass and downed the rest of it in one go, attempting to put out the flames.

Something else tugged at the edges of his consciousness. Ambrose had said the Duchess of Marnmouth had summoned them. Suddenly, it hit Harry who that was. Liam had said her full name just that afternoon; Lavinia Damon-Cowles Tattingford, Duchess of Marnmouth. The woman Louis was set to marry.

Harry needed more port.

As he moved to stand and return to the decanter, another strange man sauntered into the room. Harry was really beginning to resent all of the guests that kept coming and going from this estate. Whatever happened to those who were invited arriving at the same time? He chose to ignore that he himself had been a late arrival.

Thankfully, behind the tall, strange, man, was Liam. Harry had never been so relieved in his life. Liam, too, lit up upon seeing Harry and joined him by the fire.

“Game finished?” Harry asked.

Liam sat down in the chair Louis had just occupied. “I was dealt one too many rough hands, and decided to bow out.”

“Ah, I see,” Harry commiserated with him.

“Where is everyone?” Liam asked as he looked around the parlor.

“Niall has ‘retired early’ I’m afraid, and Louis has been called away by Mr. Tennesley and Lady Tattingford,” Harry replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Liam froze where he had been adjusting his coat and relaxing, comically turning his gaze on Harry. “Already?” he asked regret dripping from his tone. When Harry didn’t respond, he continued. “The three of them have known each other for quite a long time, along with Hallowell, the man whose wife you accompanied this evening. Whenever Ambrose and Lavinia get their hooks into Louis, they always devour his attention while constantly demanding more.”

“Does he not…” Harry wasn’t sure how to ask the question his mind was forming.

Liam shook his head. “Louis is the best friend to have in the world because he’s loyal, but sometimes he is loyal to a fault. He feels a certain responsibility to them after having known them for so long.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply nodded, and followed Liam’s lead, leaning in a bit closer when he gestured for Harry to do so.

“That man,” Liam indicated the strange man Harry had seen right before Liam had come back over. “That’s her husband, the Duke. Benedict Tattingford.”

With that knowledge, Harry studied him more closely. He was tall, as Harry had noted before, handsome enough, definitely more distinguished. He was talking to a few of the older generation—Harry’s step-father included, and he seemed as though he was at ease in their conversation.

“Lavinia is a few years younger than us, and he is about fifteen years older than Lavinia,” Liam continued. Harry attempted to follow the maths. “He’s nice enough and takes wonderful care of his estate with plentiful shooting come pheasant season. His estate is the real love of his life.”

“Why, then, did he marry her?” Harry asked.

Liam shrugged. At a certain point, Harry would need to stop gossiping with Liam like they were a bunch of old biddies, but he found he was addicted to the influx of information after being so in the dark. “My guess is that it was purely about continuing the family line. Dukedom, and all that.”

A footman offered to pour them another glass of port, and they were both obliged. Their conversation turned to much more neutral, inane topics and Harry began to relax once again.

Later that night, as he was putting himself to bed, Harry thought about all of the people in Louis Tomlinson’s orbit. There were so many people vying for his attention, constantly. Friends here, friends there. Everyone wanted a piece of him.

At first, Harry was sure it was a different sort of attention than he himself was used to, but after the blatant display of sensuality that Ambrose had directed towards the Viscount, Harry wasn’t as certain.

He shook his head as he stared up at the ceiling of his guest room. None of it mattered. None of it should matter to Harry. Despite how entwined it seemed their social circles were, he would do his best to remain casual friends with Louis and only casual friends.

It didn’t matter that being around him gave Harry a thrill as he had never felt before. This trip, especially, had made it clear that he was nowhere near ready for the intrigue that surrounded Louis—or society in general. All Harry really wanted was a quiet life in the country, broken up by stints in London for a relaxing season.

Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning at breakfast, Harry told Gemma of his desire for a quiet life and expressed that he would never be able to find such a thing.

Gemma smiled at him enigmatically, patted him on the arm in a very patronising way, and told him to buck up.

It didn’t have the desired effect.

The planned activities for the day also did nothing to help his mood. The sun was shining and their hostess had her heart set on the whole party playing lawn games all day. There was a full croquet tournament planned, and Harry could not have been less enthusiastic.

“I hope Bebe is to be my partner,” he sighed aloud to Niall and Gemma as they all gathered on the south lawn behind the manor.

“Not a chance of that, I’m afraid,” Louis called out as he approached. Harry wasn’t even aware that he had been speaking that loudly.

“Why not?”

Louis squinted against the bright sun as he gauged just how many people were out and about. “Luke, Mr. Hallowell, arrived just after breakfast.” When Harry still looked at him expecting an explanation, Louis gave an exasperated sigh. “He’s been gone a fortnight, and the two of them are almost as bad as these two,” he gestured to where Niall was hugging his wife inappropriately close to his body.

Niall let out an affronted noise before leaning to press a kiss to Gemma’s temple.

“Are you trying to say that Bebe and her husband…?” he trailed off, asking the question without asking it, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

Louis nodded sagely. “Soulmates.”

Harry scoffed. Great. More of them.

The wind changed and he practically felt Louis’ defensiveness slam into place. “We know you don’t like them, but some people aspire to have that kind of devotion with their partner.”

Truth be told, it was the most cutting thing Louis had ever said to him. Harry knew he should let the subject drop, but something compelled him to explain himself to Louis.

“I aspire to that as well,” Harry exclaimed.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

Offence at what Louis was implying permeated deep within Harry. “I truly do,” he urged.

“Boys,” Gemma cried out, with an edge of panic in her voice. They were beginning to draw some unwanted attention to themselves.

Harry took a deep breath to get himself under control. He never let anyone else’s opinion affect him in such a way, there was no reason for him to be so adamant about Louis understanding him and his motivations, and yet he couldn’t help himself from belabouring the point.

His mother and step-father were paired for the tournament, as were Niall and Gemma. Louis was paired with Liam, and Harry was left with no one. The pairs were uneven, and Mrs. Lethbridge had just about sent herself into a tizzy, before Bebe emerged from the house, hand in hand with a tall, dark, and handsome stranger.

The man was attempting to remain stoic and bite back his own smile, but Bebe’s could have illuminated the whole county.

“Ah, Mr. Hallowell, how nice of you to join us!” Mrs. Lethbridge called out. “Would you mind greatly sparing your wife for croquet?”

The couple turned towards each other, having a silent conversation with their eyes. Bebe surveyed the crowd, and looked questioningly at Harry as if to say, “Is it you that needs a partner?” Harry nodded and gave her a brief wave. Bebe looked back up at her husband and nodded as well before leaving his side and gliding over to where Harry stood.

“It seems, Mrs. Lethbridge, that my wife would like to be spared so I do not have a choice,” Mr. Hallowell joked to the group at large and was met with a polite collective chuckle in response.

As everyone dispersed to retrieve their mallets and decide the playing order, Bebe’s husband followed in her footsteps and headed towards where they were now standing.

“Mr. Styles, I presume?” the man asked, holding his hand out. Harry wasn’t sure why, but he immediately liked him, just as he had Bebe.

“Harry, please,” he replied.

“Then you must call me Luke. I hear you’ve been making quite the splash since you returned,” Luke teased, jovially. Harry immediately rounded on Bebe.

“What have you told him?” he hissed.

She didn’t respond, merely looked between them with an angelic smile. “Shall we pick out our mallets, Harry?”

Luke laughed, pressed a kiss to her forehead and wished her luck before turning back towards the lawn chairs where the other spectators were waiting.

Their tournament was soon underway, much to the amusement of their audience. He and Bebe were amusing themselves, Harry kept running into trouble with his aim which she thoroughly enjoyed.

To his credit, he was managing better than he expected given the sheer amount of times he caught himself staring at Louis across the lawn. He couldn’t quite help himself. Louis and Liam were making a terrible racket that was addicting to watch. Liam was trying very hard to stick to the rules of the game, and Louis kept mischievously getting in his way time and time again.

This was the first time Harry had ever seen Louis really exhibit true unbridled joy, taking the time time to be young and free.

A tap of a croquet mallet to the bum snapped him out of his reverie as he yelped and he dropped his own mallet. Bebe was cackling next to him, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth and stifle her giggles.

“What was that for?” Harry asked indignantly.

“If I must keep my head and not moon at my husband in marital bliss, you shouldn’t be able to moon across the course either,” she said with an unladylike snort.

“I don’t _have_ a husband,” Harry sniffed.

Bebe bit down her smile and lined up her next shot.

“Plus.” Harry did his best not to pout, but it may have bled out a bit. “I don’t even think he likes me.”

Enigmatically, Bebe said nothing.

They continued to tease each other as all of the other couples played through, lining up more and more ridiculous shots that were impossible to make. When they were done with the course, with truly abysmal scores, Harry offered to procure Bebe some tea and cakes as a way of soothing the bitter taste of defeat. She laughed and gave her assent while turning on her heel to make her way back into her husband’s arms, Harry could only imagine.

While Harry could admire their love, and appreciate the woman who was very quickly becoming a good friend, something twinged within him; a jealousy at having someone to retreat to, someone to go to for privacy after the game was done, and not be left to his own devices. One’s own mind could be lonely sometimes. He knew that now, after a year relatively on his own and away from family. He had learned that lesson thoroughly.

His mind began to stray to Louis, and he glanced over his shoulder where the man in question was locked in conversation with Ambrose Tennesley.

For a multitude of reasons, Louis was not an option for conversation. Harry idly piled a plate high with sticky, sugary cakes for Bebe as he scanned the rest of the gathered crowd. It wasn’t everyone who was staying at the house, to be sure, but it was a fair amount of the guests. Surely there was someone else, anyone else, in the whole of society who could be a prospect for settling down.

Halfway through his perusal of the lawn, his eyes caught on a woman he had never seen before. She was sitting elegantly on a small bench under a parasol with her abigail standing at a respectful distance behind her. Her hair was perfectly coiffed under an ornate bonnet, the likes of which Harry had never seen before. The hat was covered with a creamy silk that had very delicately embroidered flowers on it, and long luxurious ribbons.

The man Liam had pointed out last night as being the Duke of Marnmouth sauntered over to the bench and sat down next to her. The woman grimaced haughtily and shifted her weight so that the Duke didn’t rumple what Harry could only assume was a very expensive gown.

The woman could only be the rather infamous Lady Tattingford who had so summoned Louis and Ambrose the night before.

Harry swung his gaze back and forth between Lord and Lady Tattingford and Bebe and her husband. The differences between the two couples were striking; while by definition nobler, the Tattingfords were far and away colder and more removed from each other. The Hallowells, on the other hand, only had eyes for themselves. The grounds could be swallowed up whole and crumble into the small picturesque fishing lake, and they would be none the wiser.

Even more, he couldn’t fathom how Louis seemed to be friendly enough with both couples. From the way he had been so resolutely called forth by Lady Tattingford, to the fierce overprotectiveness of Bebe. Harry’s head was reeling.

Endlessly fascinated, he turned once again to watch Lord and Lady Tattingford interact. Or, not interact as the case might be.

“Don’t look now, but there is a fox in the henhouse,” Bebe said with a leading tone as she and her husband approached where Harry was still standing near the refreshments. Wordlessly, Harry held out the plate he had gathered for her so that she and her husband could both take a piece of the proffered cakes.

Harry looked around searching for whatever had given her concern and found it soon enough. Felicité and Lottie were standing in a small group with a fair number of other women when Percy Crawford seemingly inserted himself into their conversation. Nothing would have been untoward or suspicious, had he not continued to steadily shift his body, separating Felicité from the rest of the group into their own private conversation.

Something about the way the man so neatly hoarded all of Felicité’s attention was immediately off-putting to Harry.

“I don’t like it,” Harry said, which was only partially intentional.

Bebe hummed her assent. “My thoughts exactly.” They were both quiet for a moment, watching the proceedings with a careful eye. “I’m not sure what it is about him…” she trailed off as if she was still trying to put her finger on the one quality or trait of Mr. Crawford’s that she did not like.

“Alright, both of you,” Luke interrupted with affection in his voice. “Between her siblings and her mother, Felicité has plenty of people looking out for her. She’ll be fine,” he emphasised as he nudged them both back over to where they had been waiting to hear the results.

Soon after, Harry’s parents came over to say hello, and Harry happily introduced them to his new friends. His worry was not quite forgotten as Percy continued to follow Felicité around for the rest of the day, but he stuck to surreptitious glances to make sure Percy’s over-familiarity never bordered on inappropriate. If the behaviour continued he should think Louis would want to know. Maybe Harry would warn him when he next got the chance. It wouldn’t be appropriate for Harry to say something to either Percy or Felicité, so there was no sense in letting Louis’ rumored over-protective brotherly tendencies go to waste.

 

Their time in the country continued as such with country walks, and luncheons, and lawn games, and endless time wasters. They had only been there for four days.

Harry did his best to sequester himself away with his parents and his friends, but to his dismay, that meant more and more time spent with Louis.

Well, it should have meant more time with Louis, and he was definitely about, but Harry was becoming more and more sure that Louis was spending time with Ambrose Tennesley and Lady Tattingford as a way to avoid him.

Harry had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it meant that Harry was free to spend time with Louis’ friends and his sisters without worry. On the other hand, it meant that Louis was seeing quite a lot of Ambrose.

And Lady Tattingford. Whom he came very close to marrying.

But Harry didn’t want to enter into a courtship with him at any cost, so it didn’t matter.

Louis’ avoidance also meant that Harry had not found an appropriate time to approach him about Percy Crawford sniffing around Felicité. Harry was sure it was nothing, Louis must be able to spot how much of an unsavory character Crawford was, but he still felt the need to do his due diligence.

His reluctance to warm up to Percy Crawford was entirely unrelated to how close the man seemed to be with Ambrose as well, despite what Bebe and Luke were saying.

Harry was in the middle of getting ready for the ball that night when there was a knock on his door. His valet Charles was in the middle of tying his cravat and when Harry tried to shoo him away, the man pinned him with a look that said very clearly that he was not pleased with Harry’s attempts to duck him.

“Come in,” Harry called out.

The door opened to reveal his sister completely done up in her finery. “Evening, brother,” she said as she perched on the edge of the secretary. Harry greeted her, expecting her to give more of an explanation for why she had come into his room. When she simply continued to stare at him, he began to grow concerned. He could tell she had something to say but was nervous about saying it. That, he supposed, was the unnerving part. They had never had problems sharing things between themselves before.

“Gemma?” he prompted.

Suddenly, his sister’s much-sought-after rosy and freckled complexion turned pallid and green, before she quickly launched herself at the blessedly empty chamber pot next to his bed. Harry cried out, shocked, but instinctively leaped into action, rubbing circles in her back the best he could without disturbing the various trappings of her gown.

Hearing the commotion, Charles came back into the room to find both Harry and Gemma crouched on the floor. Quick on his feet, the valet retrieved linen cloths to cover the delicate fabrics of her gown and Harry’s breeches.

Clothing safe, and lunch upended, Gemma finally indicated that she wanted to stand up again. Harry supported her by the elbow and deposited her in the chair, gathering up his tooth-powder that she may clean herself up. After she was done, she folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him with a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.

“There’s a possibility I may be with child,” she said calmly.

“A _possibility_?” Harry exclaimed. “I would say it’s bloody well certain. Do you want me to get Niall?”

Gemma rolled her eyes at him before huffing and turning on her heel, exiting the room. Everything was exactly as it had been less than ten minutes earlier; Harry was there, Charles was there, still holding the linen square for Harry’s cravat, but the room was humming with the dramatic display Gemma had just put on, and there was a lingering smell of sick in the air.

“I’m going to be an uncle?” Harry asked breathlessly. The question wasn’t necessarily for Charles versus the room at large, but the man answered him anyway.

“I… believe so, sir.”

“Alright.” Harry was still a bit dazed, but his observation seemed to spur Charles into action. No matter what it was his job to make sure Harry was ready for the ball, so he once again wrestled him into the chair and began sculpting the linen.

Harry moaned and groaned, but it was much less vigourous this time now that he was distracted by the prospect of the pitter patter of little feet running around terrorising Niall and Gemma. It was a lovely picture.

“All set, sir,” Charles said as he stood back admiring his work.

Harry’s collar points were stiff, and intrusive,  even though he wore them lower than most on principle, but he thanked Charles and did one last inventory to make sure he was ready to return downstairs.

He bounded down the main staircase, sure that he was late by now after Gemma’s dramatics, but he didn’t think he had missed any of the dances.

Halfway down the stairs on the mezzanine landing, he came to an abrupt stop as he sensed an impediment in front of him.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, as he tried to make room. The candlelight on this particular bit of the stairway was low, but as he raised his gaze, he saw that the body he had almost barrelled through was the Duchess of Marnmouth. “My lady,” he said, as he lowered his torso in a bow.

“None of that,” she said in a clipped tone. They hadn’t been properly introduced, but Harry suspected she was the sort of person who didn’t much care for society’s rules when they didn’t quite suit her means to an end.

When they finally made eye contact, her countenance defrosted in record time and her gaze became hooded. Alarm bells began to ring as the blood pumped in Harry’s ears. Something was not right here.

“Who are you, then?”

“Styles. Harry Styles. Pleased to meet your ladyship.” He was not pleased to meet her.

“Ah yes, you’re Gemma’s brother,” she said, the calculating society climber replacing the demure tone for just a moment. “Louis was telling me about you.”

Harry’s heart lurched. He wanted, needed, to know what Louis had been saying about him, know why he had come up in conversation in the first place.

“How are you enjoying your sojourn so far?” she asked, her tone almost friendly. For all she had been built up in conversation before, and even after, she arrived, Harry had expected a bit more frigidity towards his lack of title. And yet, where with Bebe he had jumped into friendship headfirst, with Lady Tattingford there was still something holding him back.

The same something that made him smile tightly and reply shortly. “Yes, very much so.”

She took her time studying him before saying, “Lovely,” as suggestively as possible and continuing up the staircase.

Thoroughly confused, Harry shook his head and continued to look over his shoulder in the direction she had gone as though he was questioning whether the interaction had been real or not and the empty staircase would somehow manage to produce an answer for him.

When it didn’t, he did his best to forget about it and continue into the ballroom.

Despite the very dramatic start to the evening, Harry found himself enjoying the ball and all that it had to offer. He did his best to dance with Felicité, Lottie, and Bebe at least once, as well as a few of the young ladies who looked as though they wanted the floor to swallow them whole from embarrassment when their dance card was not completely full. No one should have to feel unwanted in such a way, and Harry had become skilled at telling the difference between those young women, and the ones that did not want to be approached at all.

Harry had been enjoying himself so much, and partaking in more than enough wine, that the room began to feel stuffy, and hot, and like it was going to spin on its axis at any moment. He needed to get out of there.

He didn’t tell anyone where he was going before he managed to sneak around a heavy drape and open one of the large French doors that led to the balcony. French was a funny description for such a common type of door when the English hated the French so much. Napoleon had mucked up quite a bit.

Harry blinked his eyes a few times and took deep breaths of the crisp night air into his lungs. He was a bit farther in his cups than he originally thought.

There was no one else on the balcony with him, and he took the opportunity to look out over the horizon. He couldn’t see much in the pitch black of the night, but it was enough to breathe the country air and see the stars twinkle.

There was a loud crash behind him and a giggle as a figure backlit by the candlelight from the ballroom emerged, interrupting Harry’s peace and quiet.

Unfortunately, the silhouette was seared into his memory.

“Louis,” he said flatly.

Louis’ mirth ceased as his body snapped upright and he let out an in involuntary “Oh!”

“Harry, I didn’t think there was anyone else out here.”

“I am,” he replied, dumbly.

Louis still looked unsure. “Yes.”

“Yes.”

They stood there awkwardly hovering three paces away from each other.

Harry couldn’t take the silence. “Are you enjoying the… ball?” he asked.

“Um, yes. Quite. I’ve had quite a bit of wine,” Louis replied.

Harry could tell. “I have as well,” he added, the liquor burning in his veins loosening his jaw. Harry couldn’t help it and his eyes flicked down to where Louis’ breeches were taut across his pelvis. A loose jaw would certainly be useful in other situations involving Louis Tomlinson.

Those were dangerous thoughts that Harry attempted to slam a lid on as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Just then, another door opened farther down the balcony, and a couple hovered in the doorway. There was absolutely nothing untoward about Harry and Louis standing out on the balcony together alone, but something compelled Harry to grab his arm and drag him bodily into the shadows so they could at least attempt to hide.

“What are you doing?” Louis hissed as he stumbled on a loose stone.

“Shh,” Harry replied, pressing a finger to Louis’ lips. As soon as he felt the damp, silky skin under the pad of his finger, he ripped away the offending digit as though it had been burned.

He could have lived a long and peaceful life without knowing what Louis Tomlinson’s lips felt like.

“Come on!” a male voice called out on a laugh. The couple continued to hover in the doorway as though they were threatening to come out on the balcony instead of actually doing it.

“Percy!” a female voice called out, with fake indignance dancing through her voice. “I will certainly not be compromised.”

Harry’s hand whipped up to keep Louis from calling out. He, too, had recognised Felicité’s voice, but his efforts were for naught. Louis seemed to be watching the proceedings with amusement in his eyes.

Percy relented and they closed the door to the balcony without actually setting foot on it, and it seemed to have banished the invisible thread of awkwardness between them.

“Why didn’t you let me say anything to Fiz?” Harry’s hand hadn’t gotten any higher than Louis’ chest, so he really hadn’t prevented him from doing anything, but neither one of them stopped to acknowledge that.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted to be seen out here with me,” Harry replied, not really secure in his own argument.

Louis, too, seemed to have trouble following his thoughts. “Why not?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said flatly, surprising himself. “Figured it had to be something like that.”

Louis shook his head. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” he declared. Harry just waited for a few heartbeats; partly to make a point, partly because he was having trouble gathering his thoughts. Finally, Louis wilted. “I may have been avoiding you. But can you blame me?”

Suddenly, a fire lit in Harry’s blood. “You’ve been avoiding me, and you’ve been avoiding Percy Crawford taking advantage of your sister.”

He said it with some mirth in his voice, but as soon as he was done he regretted it.

“My sister?” Louis asked, more confused than anything. But now that Harry was in this, he needed to see it through.

“He’s been sniffing around your sister like a dog after a bone. I don’t like it.” Harry huffed and leaned against the balustrade, crossing his arms petulantly.

“Oh, and you won’t get your chance, is that what you’re saying?” Louis spat out.

“No! Of course not, we’ve been over this before,” Harry said exasperatedly.

“Well then what is it?” Louis asked as he began approaching Harry’s more prone position. “What’s wrong with two young lovebirds exploring a little romance?”

Harry was standing up now on the offensive. “It’s wrong when one is trying to take advantage of the other!”

Louis scoffed. “And who is to say he’s not impressed by her sparkling wit the way you were?”

He had a point there. He had enough of a point that it made Harry pause before it dawned on him what was happening. “You think they might be soulmates,” he cried out.

“You don’t know they’re _not_ ,” Louis retorted.

“Argh!” Harry threw his hands up in the air.

As soon as his palms hit the muscles of his thighs on their way back down, he could feel the heat of Louis’ body as he pressed up against him. Harry retreated, trying to put some space between them in order to resist the temptation of Louis’ wine-flushed cheeks and bitten lips that were shining in the moonlight.

His head was swimming. His back hit the balustrade and he could feel the sharp edge of the stone through his layers of clothing, but Louis didn’t stop. He continued to crowd up against him, and before Harry could blink Louis had surged up and was pressing their lips together.

Harry gave in, letting himself moan into Louis’ mouth as the sensation of kissing him settled over his body. Harry had brought his arms up in his confusion, but as he let himself melt into the kiss, he brought them instinctively in towards Louis’ body. One found its way up to his cheek, and Harry ran the pad of his thumb across the stubble on Louis’ jaw and a shiver went through him at the way it scraped across his nerve endings.

Louis made a desperate noise in the back of his throat as he fisted his hand in the lapel of Harry’s jacket and pulled him even closer. Harry’s knees went weak, and he was glad he had the balustrade to lean on.

He had no idea how much time had passed since they had started kissing. His lungs were burning and his stomach was swooping, and he could hardly be asked to concentrate on something so mundane as time when Louis was kissing down to the edge of his cravat and nosing at the fabric as though he could will it away if he tried hard enough. The idea of Louis getting his mouth on Harry’s bare neck was enough to make him desperate for his mouth again, using his hand to redirect him until they were kissing deeply.

Harry could feel the slickness of Louis’ tongue as it teased against the seam of his own lips and he quickly opened up, allowing him entry. If the magnitude of the kiss up until that point had been overwhelming, the deepening of it drowned Harry.

All good things had to come to an end, Harry knew that rationally, but he could scarcely take a breath for fear of interrupting their moment, their world.

Unfortunately, someone else intent on using the privacy of the balcony did it for him when they unlatched one of the French doors the same way Louis’ sister had only moments before. Louis had more of his wits about him, thankfully, and shoved Harry over to the side of the building until they were both shrouded by shadows.

They were panting heavily, and Harry could feel the chill of the stonework permeate through his layers, a different feeling than the sharp edge of the balcony. Collectively they took a breath as they waited for the evidence of the intrusion to pass. The couple only had eyes for each other and bounded down the steps into the inky black void that was the garden at night.

Their giggles and footsteps faded and Harry could hear Louis finally suck a deep breath of air into his lungs beside him.

Harry reached out next to him intent on pulling Louis back to him and relishing in the tingles he felt when Louis had touched him but was met with open air.

“This was a mistake,” Louis babbled reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, messing with his fringe.

Harry’s heart sunk. “Wh—” he barely managed to get a word out before Louis cut him off.

“This was ridiculous. A ridiculous mistake,” Louis continued to babble, seemingly not able to control his mouth as a side effect of the adrenaline, most likely from how close they came to getting caught.

“Sorry,” Harry bit out as he began to shiver from the breeze, no longer warmed by the proximity of another body.

Louis turned to face him and was very deliberate in making sure Harry met his gaze. “You could never be my soulmate. You don’t want to be in love.”

A cycle of emotions went through Harry at that moment. Anger was the prevailing one, to be sure, but the more immediate was disbelief.

“What‽” he exclaimed, his body ramping up, itching to have this fight out, once and for all. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice told him that they were both still a bit drunk, and still a little bit high on the rush of their kiss and its abrupt end so this wasn’t the best time for this discussion. That voice was easily quelled by Louis’ provocation.

“You’ve made it very clear how you feel about soulmarks,” Louis said definitively. It was so succinct and derisive a statement that the urgency to make himself understood once again made panic rise quickly in Harry’s breast, pushing up against his throat, ready to spill out.

While Harry had instinctively opened his mouth to argue, something—he wasn’t sure what—told him that Louis had immediately regretted starting this argument. Normally, once he got going, Harry was difficult to talk down in the heat of the moment. He very rarely got angry, but when he did it was a force.

Something, though, stopped him and it was the strangest feeling he had ever experienced. He couldn’t explain it, but he could almost taste in the air that Louis regretted what he had said.

Harry took a few deep breaths to center himself and shake off some of the muddled thoughts in his head from the wine.

“I’m not sure where you’ve gotten the idea that I hate the idea of being in love with your spouse. I don’t. I merely don’t want to wait around, resting on my laurels, for biology to tell me who that person is.” He wasn’t sure he could make himself any plainer, so with that, Harry turned on his heel and walked all the way down the balcony until he was entering the ballroom on the completely opposite end.

Slammed with the warmth and humidity of the room, he did his best to resist looking back down the length of the room to see if Louis had come back inside. He needn’t have bothered, though. He felt the breeze, even from twenty meters away.

Harry couldn’t take it anymore and he needed to get out of there. If he could have, he would have mounted his horse and ridden back to London right that very second, but he couldn’t.

There was very little benefit to coming back to society, he was finding.

He began to push through the bodies as he counted down the reasons he needed to stay. His mother and her husband, Gemma, Niall, the baby, all of his new friends. Repeating their names on a litany in his head helped when he finally managed to break away to the staircase that led back up the rooms. The very one he had been so blindsided on earlier that evening. At the altitude of the second-floor landing, his mind finally began to clear. Or maybe it was just the wine wearing off.

Louis was the most beautiful man Harry had ever seen. A man that made Harry’s blood boil in the most delicious way, that made Harry weak when he had pushed him against the wall on the balcony. A man that made Harry strongly consider if being caught in a compromising position was such a horrible thing.

But what had gotten in the way? Bloody soulmarks.

Harry reached his hand up to his elbow out of habit to cover the area on the outside of his forearm under his elbow as he continued to climb the stairs. The linen of his shirt was making his mark itch.

His feet didn’t lose momentum until he was in front of Gemma and Niall’s door and his knuckles were pounding on the heavy wood.

“Gems,” he hissed. He knew his sister hadn’t gone down to the ball after her dramatic presentation earlier in the evening.

Niall opened the door with a glare, ready to attack anyone who considered disturbing his lady wife. His face relaxed when he saw Harry, but Harry was also sure his expression was knit with the frantic concern he could feel rolling through himself.

“Come on in, Harry,” Niall conceded and finally opened the door to let him into the room. Gemma was sitting on a settee near the fire with a book propped in her lap and it was clear from the way the blanket was draped that Niall had only left her moments before when he rose to open the door.

Gemma didn’t seem surprised to see Harry at all, which was only slightly off-putting. He remembered himself and cut through his own fog to ask after her well being first.

“Are you well?” he croaked.

She smirked at him. “I’m fine, thanks. Sorry about earlier.” She shrugged, but her smirk didn’t dissipate which meant she wasn’t really all that sorry.

The room fell silent save for the crackle of the fire.

Niall looked back and forth between the siblings with increasing awareness of the tension surrounding Harry. His brow knit together until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Niall opened his mouth to speak. “What’s wr—”

“Why is finding your soulmate so important, anyway?” Harry blurt out. He felt bad for cutting Niall off, but he couldn’t hold the question in any longer. Neither one answered, from shock mostly, Harry was sure. He watched the flames dance for a moment as he thought about what he wanted to know. “If everyone has cast it aside so easily, why are some people so fixated on the idea?”

Niall and Gemma turned their necks to face each other and were having a conversation with their eyes right in front of him. Excluding him. He tried not to feel hurt by that. At every turn this evening, Harry felt as though he had made misstep after misstep, but thinking back he couldn’t think of anything he had done _wrong_ per se. Aside from drinking too much wine and being kissed by Louis Tomlinson on the balcony.

“The people who have cast the idea aside…” Gemma trailed off as she too gathered her thoughts and carefully placed her bookmark and closed the book. Her finger trailed over the gold embossing on the cover. “There’s nothing wrong with regular feelings, and regular love, but there’s something… _more_ about finding that with a soulmate.”

Harry was twenty-five years old, old enough to understand, old enough to know, but he only just managed to keep himself from asking the absurdly childish question on the tip of his tongue. How was he supposed to _know_?

“What happens?” he whispered, hoping they would understand.

“It’s difficult to explain, but the basics are that when you touch your marks, they fuse. But it’s much, much more than that,” Gemma said with clear affection in her eyes.

Harry could tell from their body language that they had collectively decided that they wanted to regain their solitude. He stood up to leave them, they were celebrating wonderful news, they deserved to enjoy it with each other.

While he and his sister teased each other, Harry couldn’t choke back the lump in his throat as he turned back at the door. “I’m proud of you, Gem.”

Unable to bear the heavy emotional moment, he fled across the hall to his own room. Charles was nowhere to be found, most likely enjoying his own party down in the servants' hall if Harry wasn’t mistaken. The thought made him smile, and he disrobed himself quickly, tossing his clothing to be dealt with tomorrow.

He didn’t want to be downstairs, he didn’t want to disturb Gemma, he had too much restless energy to even consider going to sleep. In short, he was at a loss.

He paced around his room a few times, opened up his ledgers for work, cursed the incoherent mess they seemed to be at the present moment, shut them harshly, then grabbed a book and finally flung back the counterpane on the bed.

The ball he knew would go on into the wee hours of the morning, so there was nothing to be done about the noise, but nevertheless, he would persevere in his reading of… something or other.

Harry managed but a few sentences before his mind began to drift to the forceful way in which Louis had taken over their kiss. No, forceful wasn’t quite right. Confident. Louis had been confident in the way he had pressed up against Harry, scraped the sensitive skin of his neck with his week-old beard, then healed the abrasions with the delicate press of his lips.

It may have been five minutes later, it may have been thirty, but soon Harry felt himself melt back into the mattress with a hand draped lightly across his throat, as though Louis would appear and lower himself down from the canopy at any moment to lay atop him and resume his exploration of Harry’s skin.

He felt his body respond, and the bare skin of his mark scraped across the coverlet, sending thrums of arousal through his body in response to his overly sensitive skin.

Harry traced his fingertips gingerly across his chest, unconsciously letting them drift towards his nipples. When he realised what he was doing, he sighed heavily before reaching his hand farther down and giving in to the inevitable as his restless energy began to melt away.


	6. Chapter 6

Mornings in the countryside were breathtakingly beautiful, no matter where Harry was. The sun-bleached Italian hills were vastly different from the lush greenery of southern England. They hadn’t been any less beautiful to him when he was there, but he had missed the dewy, liminal existence that so personified an English morning in the country.

Most mornings.

With the harsh light of dawn—or at the very least half past nine—came the harsh reminders of the night before. Harry catalogued his grievances as he lay in bed squinting at the bright sun that was decidedly not blocked by any curtains. Charles must have drawn them at some point earlier in the morning.

What a horrible thing to do to your employer.

He could feel a pounding at the base of his skull, and a general feeling of nausea somewhere near his abdomen. More troubling was the abrasions he could feel on the tender skin of his neck and chin. Harry had experienced beard burn enough in his life to know that’s what it was. A distinct reminder of what he and Louis had gotten up to on the balcony.

Additionally, he could feel the tightness of his skin as he shifted around, even though he was avoiding as much movement as possible.

Another reminder, but for that one the blame was entirely his own. He wasn’t exactly a randy teenager anymore and had no idea what possessed him to take care of that particular… urge so immediately.

His heart beat once, twice, as he blinked at his ceiling. Louis. Louis possessed him.

Harry groaned before rolling over and burying his face in his pillow. The hints of lavender from the freshly-washed linens had faded and were almost entirely masked by the tang of his sweat from the night before. His stomach roiled.

Regretting the effort, he shifted back so that he was lying on his side again.

While he waited for his head to stop throbbing, Harry listened out for any sign of life in the house at large. Silence. Everyone else must be as bad off as him, then. That made him feel a bit better.

Breakfast. He needed to get up for breakfast. Tea and toast would help, it _always_ helped. Once he had something in his stomach, he would be fortified and he could face the rest of his problems. Namely, Louis. He and Louis needed to sit down and have a talk when they were sober. They couldn’t keep avoiding this weird connection between them.

Armed with a plan, Harry very carefully sat up in bed, letting the sheets drop down to his hips. Charles, with the sixth sense that came with being a valet, very carefully and quietly opened the door to the servants’ corridors.

“What would you like to do first, sir? Bathe?” he asked Harry with a very distinct air of judgment.

Harry grumbled at him but nodded his head as Charles opened the door again and two maids magically appeared with a copper tub of piping hot water.

Charles was forgiven for his earlier transgression with the curtains.

When he was sure he had some privacy, Harry climbed the rest of the way out of bed and saw that by some grace of God, the tub was one big enough that he could climb into it entirely, if he was very careful about how he folded up his legs.

The heat of the water was a shock to his system in the best way, allowing him to concentrate on that instead of anything else that ailed him. He relaxed as much as he could back into the water and let go of the tension in his muscles.

There was a linen waiting on the side table for him as well as a bar of lavender soap. Harry picked it up and began scraping at the skin of his stomach. The feeling was both therapeutic and addictive, and he found he couldn’t stop.

Eventually, the water began to cool and his skin was pink and pruney, so he climbed out, reaching for a cloth to dry himself.

Charles returned to help him dress, and an hour later, he made his way down to breakfast.

Based on the sparseness of the spread and the lack of people or servants, Harry figured that most guests had chosen to take breakfast in their rooms if they were even awake yet. That would have been the smart thing to do, and there were more than a few moments over the course of the morning that made Harry want to throw in the towel and stay in bed, but he didn’t want to take the cowards way out either. He was a man of single-minded focus: find Louis.

The man had to come down eventually, Harry was sure of it. Either him or one of his sisters, or Bebe, or Liam. There had to be a thread that Harry could pull that would help him get to Louis short of barging into his rooms.

Filled with ample tea and toast—and even a soft-boiled egg—an hour later, Harry was physically feeling a bit better, but was also beginning to lose hope. Not a single soul that held any kind of connection to Louis had come downstairs.

Plenty of servants had been dispatched with trays to rooms, though, which meant that more guests were awake. A few had even come down to breakfast and joined Harry, including his parents. Gemma must have already told them the news because his mother’s eyes were brimming with happy tears all throughout their meal and even the slightest thing would set her off. She was _very_ excited at the prospect of having grandchildren.

Every time Harry heard someone on the grand staircase, he was on high alert. His heart would start beating a bit faster and his breath would hitch. After the fifth disappointment, he chastised himself for having such a strong reaction.

Louis was just a man. That was it; a normal man. Nothing to get excited about.

The sixth disappointment changed everything because standing in the large arched doorway was Lord and Lady Tattingford.

When he saw her, a few bits and pieces of memories from the night before came flashing back. Lady Tattingford had approached Harry at least once more during the ball to strike up a conversation with him, or engage him in a conversation that was already taking place. Aside from being drunk and distracted, her group of companions had almost always included Ambrose, so Harry had politely responded, but moved on quickly.

All of those interactions had been lost to Harry’s memory after everything that had happened with Louis on the balcony, but her facial expression standing in the corridor was downright predatory.

Confused, Harry greeted her politely, before searching around to make sure that he was the victim of her gaze. When he desperately failed to find anyone else in their vicinity, or even in the room, he looked back at her, resigned. He had to choose between abandoning his post waiting for Louis, or suffer through awkwardly polite conversation. On any other day, he usually of a friendly enough disposition that he didn’t mind, but today, of all days, he found he didn’t have the patience for it.

With the harsh scrape of the chair legs against the floor, Harry stood up quickly. “I’m so sorry, Lord Tattingford, Lady Tattingford,” he nodded to each in turn. “I will take your leave.”

As he rounded the other side of the table, intent on escaping the room before they could respond, his body froze upon hearing a commotion in the doorway.

There, finally, was a very windblown, rosy-cheeked Louis, his two sisters, and Ambrose Tennesley. Harry didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a very near thing, saved only by his concern that his head would start pounding again.

Louis had arrived, beautiful Louis, and despite the mixed company Harry stared at him intently, trying to convey the best way he could that they desperately needed to speak to one another.

In turn, Louis looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, as though he was ready to flee at any moment. His sisters continued to chatter on around him as he broke eye contact with Harry.

“L—” Harry started to call out to him, but just as quickly as he had arrived, Louis had turned on his heel and escaped the room.

That hadn’t gone as planned. Harry’s body instinctively clenched as he moved to follow Louis, but Ambrose beat him to the door, casually shutting Harry down. “I wonder what’s wrong with him,” he mused to the whole room as he sent a snide glance in Harry’s direction and disappeared after Louis.

The whole room had quieted, but soon resumed it’s level of activity as Louis’ sisters and the Tattingfords began to converse genially.

Harry was at a loss, and he was hurt. But it was fine. There had been a misunderstanding, and he was resolute in his belief that they needed to talk through it.

Unfortunately, he never got the chance.

He didn’t see Louis again for the rest of the day. The next morning, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of him out riding before breakfast, but alas, nothing for the rest of the day.

If Harry thought Louis had been avoiding him before by spending more time with Ambrose, he knew that Louis was definitely avoiding him now.

On the third day since the kiss they had shared, Harry finally broke down. His next goal was to find one of Louis’ sisters alone so he could ask one of them. He would prefer Felicité as they were a bit better acquainted, but he would see what he could get.

 

Unfortunately, thwarted in his quest to find a Tomlinson, Harry once again found himself faced with Lady Lavinia Tattingford. For all that Liam had warned Harry of her snobbish ways, she came across as not having any trouble with Harry’s lack of title whatsoever. She struck up conversation many times over, and Harry had somehow—without his knowledge of having attempted to do so—gotten to know her quite well.

While most of her conversation was idle ton gossip, occasionally she would talk about Louis, or his other family in Doncaster that Harry didn’t know very much about. She seemed to have learned that when she spoke about the Tomlinsons, Harry was much more likely to stay in conversation with her than not, as it played to his own weakness and desire to know more about this enigmatic man that he couldn’t get out of his system.

Harry had grown accustomed to these interruptions in his day and was therefore entirely unprepared to be cornered in the library one afternoon.

He had been idly reading the titles on the shelf, looking for something new to bide his time, when she entered the room.

“Lady Tattingford.” He nodded before turning back to his own pursuit, leaving her to make her own use of the library without interruption as one did in polite society.

“Lavinia, please,” she said, dropping the register of her voice and leaning against a shelf.

Harry shifted his gaze back to her in shock. She had asked him to use her first name before, and he had somewhat declined, but this time she was practically purring and draping herself across the bookcases like a cat in heat.

It was vain to assume that she was coming on to him, so that wasn’t necessarily his first assumption, but he was certainly not discounting the possibility.

“Can I help you find something?” he croaked out.

“No, thank you, you’re perfect as you are,” she said, again using that alarmingly syrupy tone.

“What—” Harry fish mouthed at her as he finally forced himself to admit that all of the signs were pointing towards her pursuing him. Romantically.

This could not be happening. Her husband was a duke, she was friends with Louis, she knew and could sway both Louis and his family into hating Harry. All of the consequences of the situation were swimming around in Harry’s head.

Lavinia stared at him and with an over exaggerated coquettishness, purposefully dropped her gaze so that she was looking up at Harry from under her eyelashes.

If Harry had been any less terrified about what was about to come out of her mouth, he might have laughed. He was unsure what instinct had led her to believe this act would successfully work on him, but it was very, very misguided. Harry was the master of using this very same look on men. He liked to think he was a little bit better of an actor, though.

His fear mounted when she pushed off of the bookcase and began to stalk towards him.

“You and I both know there is something between us, Harry.”

Harry knew nothing of the sort, and she was approaching his personal space very quickly. Quite literally trapped in a corner, he had nowhere to escape. How had Louis done it so successfully? Harry almost laughed again.

“Um,” Harry replied, eloquently.

Her delicate hand lifted to dance along top button of his waistcoat, and he could feel his chin disappear as he tried to keep it in his sight.

“I hear you’re a wonderful lover, take me to your bed,” she said plainly.

Harry choked and sacrificed his decency to put his hands on her upper arms and gently, yet forcibly, lift her away so he could escape from the corner.

“Lady Tattingford—” he started, the manic energy evident in his tone. Undeterred, she continued to follow him around the room, even as he strove to put a table between them as a physical barrier.

“Lavinia, I told you,” she pouted in a way he was sure she thought was innocent and enticing.

“Who? Where?” There were so many questions Harry needed to ask, he was unsure where to start. “How do you know I’m a good lover?”

She shrugged and toyed with the edge of the table without meeting his gaze. “Ladies hear things, you know.” She lifted her hand up to cup around her mouth as though to hide what she was going to say. “Behind closed doors.”

Harry, who had never lain with a woman in his entire life, was flabbergasted. Did women boast about his abilities? Even when they had no experience with him?

When he thought about it for another beat, he realised that men boasted about their carnal activities. Why shouldn’t women in turn?

His moment of hesitation was all the opening she needed to bodily approach Harry again.

This time he was ready for her though and had finally reached a place in the room where he could easily escape through a door.

“Lady Tattingford, I _am_ flattered,” he said backing up until he could get his hand on the doorknob. “But, I’m afraid I’m not available for an affair such as the one you present.”

She studied him very carefully, and he did his best to force every muscle in his body to be still as if that would somehow convey the seriousness of his statement.

Whatever he had done must have worked, because, with a very distinct shift in both body language and mood, she leaned away from him and began to back away.

Where the moment before there had been a young ingenue, the cold and icy Queen of her dominion that Harry had seen on the very first day of her arrival slammed into place.

“I see,” she said lowly, purring affectation abolished. Once again, her demeanour changed and became more calculating. “That _is_ a shame,” she said, every word laced with a threat.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end.

Lady Tattingford continued before he could respond. “It’s a shame because now, I’m going to have to say that you have greatly insulted me. That doesn’t sound like much, I know,” she said as her tone grew sharper. “But I can make it seem as though you have been nothing short of a blackguard. Then we shall see how he responds.”

“He?” Harry gulped.

The iciness in her eyes turned deadly. “Why, Louis, of course.”

The breath left Harry’s lungs as the dagger of her words pierced his sternum as though it had been a physical blow. He did his best to mask his reaction, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was.

“Why would Lord Tomlinson’s opinion affect me in any way?” he asked in an attempted to remain unaffected on the outside at least.

She chuckled with no mirth. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. I _know_ it, that feeling, deep within my soul.”

“You’re vastly overestimating my feelings for the viscount. There is an attraction, nothing more.” Harry did his best to be dismissive. “A bit of fluff.”

“We’ll see then, won’t we,” she replied. With a swish of her skirts, she turned on her heel to exit the door on the other side of the room.

With a sudden burst of masochism, Harry opened his mouth again. “Lady Tattingford?” he asked as she froze.

“If you thought me to be so enamoured of the viscount, why, then, would you insist that I bed you?” It was much easier to be slightly more cruel to the back of her head.

She turned back around only to sneer at him down her nose, looking every part the Duchess she was by marriage, before finally leaving the room.

Harry felt the tension leave his body as he fell back against the shelves of books, panting to catch his breath after that encounter.

Disbelief coursed through him. Lady Tattingford. Lavinia. Louis’ former fiancee had wanted him in her bed. But, why?

Harry’s mind immediately jumped to some kind of revenge, but on the surface, Harry and Louis were nothing to each other, there was no advantage to bedding Harry for her. Also, she and Louis were old, childhood friends. Surely, she wasn’t friends with someone while harboring a secret desire to take her revenge for a wrong that had long since been corrected. She had married successfully after Louis turned her down. There was no reason to be hung up on a Viscount when she had a Duke, if she was, in fact, the social climber she was presumed to be.

He was confused and shocked, and unsure of what to do. His first instinct was to do nothing. There was no benefit to be had in her blabbing about Harry turning her down; he would have to take the chance and call her bluff.

 

It took Harry the rest of the afternoon to shake off the encounter, his concentration shot to hell. He had only been reading for pleasure anyway. At dinner that evening he was worried about how Lavinia would treat him, but she soundly ignored him, seated as she was at the other end of the table with her husband.

He was paired up with someone’s great aunt, and while he tried to be friendly and converse with her, she was quite deaf, and Harry was quite distracted by everything that was going on anyway.

Harry couldn’t help but notice that Louis wasn’t at dinner at all, which only invigorated the urgency in his desire to speak to him. Especially now that Lavinia had threatened him. He continued to try and convince himself that Lavinia would do nothing and that her threats were entirely empty, but the only way for him to know for sure was to speak to Louis.

If he got to him first, he could explain the situation.

He needed to explain.

Everything happening had sent Harry into a bit of a tailspin. He genuinely had only been away from society for a year, but it felt as though he was playing a game he didn’t know, and all of the rules had changed. He felt as though he was bouncing around untethered from person to person, interaction to interaction, and had no control over his own actions. Something somewhere needed to give.

 

The next day he was in search of his parents and a spot of tea, not necessarily in that order, and an opportunity presented itself when he saw Lottie Tomlinson admiring a bouquet of fresh flowers in the sitting room.

He didn’t want to disturb her concentration, but he also didn’t want to lose his chance. Clearing his throat lightly hadn’t done anything, so he tried again, louder this time.

Lottie shot up from where she had been bent over the stems. “Oh!” the tension in her body relaxed when she realised it was Harry who had been looking for her. “Hello, Mr. Styles,” she added, teasingly.

“Miss Tomlinson,” Harry replied with a bow as though he hadn’t been the one to interrupt her solitude.

“Now,” she studied him shrewdly, “What can I do for you?”

“Your brother,” Harry started. “I’m fairly certain he’s avoiding me, but I’m also certain that I need to talk to him.”

Lottie nodded along as she smirked at him. “My brother is very good at avoiding things that confuse him.”

Harry blinked at her. “Confuse? I confuse him?”

“More than either of you know,” she said on a laugh. “Unfortunately, Mr. Styles, as much as I would love to help you in your pursuit of my brother, he has gone back to London.”

Harry balked at the word pursuit, but his mind caught up to him when he realised she said he had gone back to London.

“London?”

She nodded. “Yes, he’s gone back.”

“To London,” Harry said flatly as understanding dawned.

Lottie hummed in agreement.

“I see,” Harry said, trying but failing to mask the hurt in his voice. There was avoiding someone, and then there was Louis leaving a house party a few days early, and escaping an entire day’s ride away so that he didn’t have to face Harry. “Thank you very much for your time,” he added as politely as he could manage before he turned on his heel and made to exit the room.

“Harry, wait!” Lottie called after him.

When he turned back around, she was much closer and laid her gloved hand on his arm. “I will say,” she said placatingly, “that Louis got word that one of his horses wasn’t doing well.”

Her tone was a bit patronising, but Harry appreciated what she was trying to do. It wouldn’t work, but he appreciated it.

He could feel his wry grin escape as concern for his feelings stitched across her brow. “You and I both know he probably didn’t have to go tend to them immediately, but thank you nonetheless.”

She held his gaze, searchingly, for another moment before she nodded and let go of his arm.

“Good day, Lottie,” he added infusing as much warmth as he could so she knew there were no hard feelings, and turned around again.

His jaw clenched as he tried to hold himself together. He wasn’t sure how many times he needed to tell himself that it didn’t matter, he and Louis would never be together. What had he said to Lady Tattingford? A bit of fluff.

Clearly, he needed to tell himself once more.

Distracted as he was, he didn’t see the body darting out from one of the side corridors until he had almost run into the intruder.

Ambrose Tennesley. While the other man was distracted with trying to right himself, Harry rolled his eyes. This was the very last thing he needed at the moment.

“Mr. Styles,” Ambrose said on a sneer.

Harry was thoroughly disgusted with the number of times he had been talked down to during the course of the last few days. First Lady Tattingford, and now her lapdog-in-waiting. Harry was quickly reaching his boiling point.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” he continued without waiting for Harry to say anything. “But you’ll do well to stay away from Viscount Loring. He has no use for someone such as you in his life. He’s waiting for his soulmate.”

Harry’s mind was already reeling from his conversation with Lottie, and he was decidedly not listening very closely to Ambrose, so it took him a moment to catch up. He was fairly certain he had been grossly insulted.

“Apologies, Mr. Tennesley, but did you say you couldn’t help but overhear a private conversation?” Harry asked in disbelief. The man could not have possibly picked a worse time to confront Harry about this.

“You were speaking rather loudly,” the man said unapologetically.

“That doesn’t give you leave to listen, or comment on the situation at hand.” Really. Harry took a moment to assess the man standing in front of him with his perfectly coiffed hair, and perfectly done-up tailoring, down to the very last stitch. It was clear from the way he held himself, that he felt as though he was somehow better, or higher in stature than Harry. And it was clear from his words that he fancied himself to be Louis’ soulmate.

For some reason, it was the last bit that made Harry’s vision go red and his pulse pound in his ears.

Ambrose attempted to respond, but Harry genuinely didn’t think he would be able to listen to another moment of his voice.

“Sir, I’m not sure what you thought you heard, but I know it was certainly none of your affair,” he spat out. “That being said, if my association with Viscount Loring was in anyway offensive to him, I’m sure he will tell me in his own time. You have absolutely nothing to do with the connection we may or may not possess between us, or, in fact, his own personal quest for his soulmate. Please, refrain from approaching me thusly unless it is to bring a personal grievance.”

Harry shoved rudely past him and held his head high as he climbed the stairs to his room, intent on escaping the hell that this house party had become.

As it was, his hurt and anger had forced him to be much more rude to Ambrose than he had ever imagined himself to be. He hated to treat another person with such harsh words, but honestly to presume so much about a person after having had one singular conversation with them, if that. And then to turn around and pass such unspoken judgment in such a way. It was efficient, Harry would give him that.

What flabbergasted Harry was that there was not much difference in station between the both of them, but it was very clear that Ambrose felt as though his connection with Louis had already allowed him to rise above Harry. Harry had a profession, a trade, which he was sure lowered him in their eyes, but he would much rather that than the alternative. He couldn’t fathom what sort of pleasure or satisfaction Ambrose possibly got from riding others’ coattails to the height of the social scene.

Harry very decidedly couldn’t stand another moment in this sort of society. He had made long-lasting friendships in many of the people he had met that knew Louis, but if the viscount was going to associate with the kind of people Lady Tattingford and Ambrose had revealed themselves to be, he wasn’t sure he wanted any part of it.

The worst part of anything that happened over the course of his stay in Sussex was that he didn’t even know what “it” was. Because Louis had run away to escape Harry, and now Harry was left feeling as though something was open-ended. Incomplete. Even though his escape should have been a very clear rejection.

When Harry managed to return to London— which could not happen soon enough—it would be much easier to not actively want to seek Louis out as London was quite big and much less isolated.

He reached his room and called out for Charles only once before the valet magically appeared, startling him.

“We’re leaving,” Harry said forcefully. “Help me pack, please.”

“Sir, I don’t think you’ve thought this through,” Charles replied carefully.

Frustration at an all-time high, Harry took a deep breath and reminded himself that Charles was only doing his job.

“I have,” he argued in return, “and I would like to go back to London.” Harry turned to his wardrobe to take stock of his clothing.

“Sir, you came on horseback. You’re welcome to leave on horseback, but your belongings, and myself, will be a few more days behind you. We must go with the carriage and with Lady Gemma.”

Harry deflated a bit as he sat down in his chair. Charles was right, of course. Harry had to decide if he would rather stay in this godforsaken house a moment longer, or if he wanted to return to London without anyone to help him.

He had traveled extensively, he could make do with whatever he had in London. He didn’t need servants.

Decided, Harry stood up again suddenly. “I’m going to go back. I’ll be sorted with whoever is at Niall and Gemma’s. I’m staying there anyway until I can find bachelor lodgings.”

“Very well, Sir,” Charles replied and it hung in the air for a moment. “With all due respect, have you told Lady Gemma yet?”

Harry scoffed. “I don’t need Gemma’s permission to go back, even if it is her house.”

“Very well, Sir,” the valet said again. His tone was neutral, but his eyes said that Harry was being foolhardy. In the nicest most respectful way possible, Harry was sure.

They continued to stand off for another few heartbeats before Harry dropped his hands off his hips and opened his door to cross the hall. He knocked on Niall and Gemma’s door, but there was no response.

So far that afternoon, he had been unsuccessful in finding his parents, his sister, her husband, or tea, and hadn’t managed to get on the road back to London.

Maybe the best course of action was to go back to bed.

Defeated, he returned to the ground floor of the house and thankfully came across Bebe and her husband alone with, of all things, a tea service. He was very near to tears in relief at seeing a friendly face and collapsed dramatically on the settee next to her.

“Harry? What’s wrong?” her voice was laced with concern, which he couldn’t well fault her forgiven his very dramatic entrance. Harry came very close to confessing it all to her before he caught himself up short. Luke had grown up with Louis and Lady Tattingford. Maybe not Ambrose as much, but Harry was sure he had at least been present in their childhood to an extent. There was some need to censor himself about his conversations with the latter two parties.

Louis, on the other hand, was known to them. Maybe they could provide some insight.

“I believe the Honourable Viscount Loring is avoiding me,” he told them, as he sat up to take the cup of tea Bebe had handed to him.

Bebe and Luke looked at each other purposefully and remained silent for a moment. “I’m not so sure avoiding is the right word,” she started carefully.

That wasn’t a denial, and she knew it. Harry did his best to level her with his gaze. “He galavanted off to London.”

“One of his horses is sick?” she suggested tentatively.

Harry scoffed.

Luke chuckled at his response, but his body language changed very noticeably, and he sat up to address Harry.

“I’ve known Louis all my life. And while I would trust him with said life, when it comes to personal things, he has a tendency to… overreact. I should say, over-process. He’ll run things over and over in his head to analyse the situation, see what went wrong—in every aspect of his life—but when he applies that same principle to other people, it doesn’t serve him as well.”

Harry had come down expecting to gain some advice from Bebe, but Luke’s assessment of Louis’ character was actually quite eye-opening to Harry.

“So, what do you suggest I do?” he asked, munching on a ginger biscuit.

Luke shrugged. “I’m not certain, it depends on the problem. What exactly happened between the two of you?”

Harry could feel the blush growing on his cheeks and immediately stuffed another ginger biscuit in his mouth.

“Ahh,” Luke said, nodding. “I’m not sure I want any more details than that, as they’re sure to be incriminating, but I would suggest giving him a little bit of time to cool down. When he gets to London he’ll have other things to take his mind off of how confused he is sure to be about you.”

Bebe nodded and leaned her head on Luke’s shoulder.

Confused. That was the second time someone close to Louis had used that word to describe their estimate of what he was feeling. Harry had started out very certain, and desperate to talk to Louis about the attraction between them, possibly explore it more than they had in their brief moments together.

Now, after being confronted, then placated, then been given an attempted dressing down, his mind was feeling more muddle than ever before. Confusion about their relationship was something he could certainly understand.

On top of all of the confusion, Harry was worried about what Lady Tattingford had said to Louis about their encounter if anything at all. If by some miracle, Harry and Louis figured out what they could be to each other, and began a sort of liaison, socialising with the Duke and Duchess would be infinitely awkward for Harry.

There had to be a point at which a liaison with Louis was no longer worth the headache it would bring Harry.

Why, then, was Harry feeling overwhelmed by the urge to shepherd him away somewhere until it was just the two of them, away from the mess that was the rest of society?

And after just one kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

All in all, Harry was thankful he had been forced to stay behind to wait for Gemma and the rest of his family. Their parents decided that because both of their children were going to London, there was no reason for them not to go as well. Any obligations waiting for them in Holmes Chapel could certainly wait for a few weeks and after that it was only another month until Christmas.

His mother sent for the things they would need, and both carriages set off for London. Harry was also thankful that he had come on horseback, and therefore did not need to be squished into a carriage seat.

He loved his family, would gladly spend time with them, but as it was their little caravan had been forced to stop a few extra times for Gemma to be sick. While she wasn’t very far along, morning sickness had stricken her down something awful, and Harry wished he could ease some of her burden.

For now, he hoped it was enough that she and Niall had plenty of room in a carriage to themselves so she could stretch out and lie down if need be.

 

They made it to London the next day given their very slow pace. An inn along the way had provided their lodgings for the night, and they ran into many of the other guests that they had just left at the estate who had also chosen to stay the night in between legs of the journey.

Harry settled in for the night in his corner of their London townhouse and thought about how his views on his place in society had changed from the time he left.

Everything he had done had been connected to Louis in some way. The friends he had made, the ones he already had, including his own sister, were all connected to Louis. Harry wasn’t sure if he should tell everyone who had been hinting at a connection between the two that it was no longer, or if he should pretend like it never happened.

Their courtship, for however brief and nonexistent it was, was over and the last thing Harry wanted was for his friends and family to feel uncomfortable around the two of them. Or worse, have Louis feel uncomfortable around Harry, which it was clear he already did.

Tomorrow was a new day, back to London, back to life. Free of Louis Tomlinson.

 

Harry may have gotten his wish and been free of _Louis_ Tomlinson, but what he certainly wasn’t free of was _Felicité_ Tomlinson. Her presumed budding relationship with Percy Crawford was all anyone could talk about even a week after they had returned from Sussex.

Apparently Percy Crawford had returned to society much the way Harry had, and only a few months before as well. From what Harry could gather, he had been traveling too, though mostly in France, and now that he had returned, had his sights on settling down with a nice young lady.

Now, Harry knew how men acted when they were sowing their wild oats and enjoying their youth, and he knew how men acted when they made the conscious decision to marry and settle down.

Percy Crawford was decidedly the former.

Just as frequently as he heard about the man in conjunction with Felicité, Harry heard about him in conjunction with gambling, drinking, carousing, and even once or twice opium. All of that was idle gossip. It certainly didn’t help Harry’s perception of Percy, but he wasn’t going to take chatter as cold, hard, facts. People very well could have spread the same rumours about him when he had returned. He didn’t think they did, but then again, if they were doing it behind his back he wouldn’t have known either way.

Harry hadn’t been back in London long, but it certainly helped his reputation that he was spending the majority of his time with Niall and Liam. The three of them very quickly became inseparable, and society began to take notice. It wasn’t often that one of them went without the other two. Their arrangement was bittersweet, though, as it meant that Gemma was at home sick in bed. At various stages, both Niall and Harry offered repeatedly to stay back at the house with her, but she refused them every time.

Their mother was there, as well as all of Gemma’s staff who were more than willing to help her through it.

The only other person missing from their party, as was occasionally remarked on, was Louis. Harry got the sense that before he came along, it was likely that the other three men would have been seen more frequently with each other.

Obviously, there was some speculation as to why Niall and Liam had “thrown off” Louis in the week following their return to London as they were clearly all in town together, but those whispers were mostly quelled by the observation that Louis was quite preoccupied with the upcoming races.

Louis had two horses that he had trained, or stabled to some extent, racing at the Royal Ascot in two weeks time. Harry would have loved to ask him about it, but their continued avoidance of each other was a hindrance in their levels of conversation.

And so it continued. Harry spent most of his time with Liam and Niall, only ever seeing Louis across a crowded ballroom when it was quite easy to ignore each other. Being the solid, upstanding gentlemen that they were, neither Niall nor Liam pressed Harry on the subject. Harry wasn’t sure if that was because they had already asked Louis and he had given them the answers they sought, or if they could tell that it was a sore subject. Either way, he was grateful.

They all went to their gentlemen’s club, White’s, together frequently as both Harry and Niall wanted to give Gemma the privacy she needed, and Liam’s bachelor lodgings were fairly modest and ill-equipped, as was to be expected.

Harry hadn’t belonged to the club before he went away, but he was grateful for the introductions from both Niall and Liam. While he certainly had the money to become a member, he wasn’t sure he would have been allowed entry on his own merit, involved in the dirty business of trade as he was.

Trade, the very thing he had somewhat given up for the time being after being on the road, allowed him the luxury of not having to worry when they played at the card tables together. The food was excellent, the drink even better, and Harry was enjoying himself, but it all felt a little empty. He wasn’t accustomed to the life of a gentleman of leisure, and he would be glad when he could get back to work.

On the other hand, there were days that he appreciated the freedom in his schedule.

He and Niall had escaped the house and the utterly helpless feeling that settled over them when they weren’t able to help Gemma feel any better. Niall had his feet propped up and was reading the paper, while Harry was reading a philosophical essay as his eyes began to glaze over when Liam finally arrived.

They both greeted him in turn as he too took a seat and straightened out his own copy of the newspaper.

Harry huffed out a sigh. He was officially bored. Everything in town was quiet, Niall and Liam were reading much more successfully than he was. He didn’t have much correspondence at the moment, and what he did have to reply to was back at the house.

At some point, he knew they would either go back to the house for tea so Niall could check up on Gemma, and then they would likely go for a ride. Harry darted a glance up at the large grandfather clock. Those activities were both still hours off.

Niall rustled his paper, and Harry let his gaze drop down to his brother-in-law’s face. There were frown lines there that hadn’t existed before, and Harry knew it was killing him to be away from Gemma, even when honoring her wishes.

“What are you looking at?” Niall asked without taking his eyes off the paper in front of him.

“Nothing,” Harry replied.

“Is that so?” Niall asked again, dropping the paper down into his lap while his hand closed in such a way as to keep his place.

Harry shrugged, not having a better answer for him at the ready. Niall gave him a long look before picking up his paper again. Consciously trying not to stare at Niall again, Harry let his gaze wander around the large ground floor reading room of the club, through the archway and beyond.

People watching was fairly boring when all of the people were homogenous.

In that moment, before he could even make the decision to go back to the essay he had been reading, a large group of young rakes walked by the doorway and began guffawing and generally interrupting the tranquility of the reading room.

Harry stopped his movement and looked up to watch them. The group of young men parted and the only figure Harry recognised was one Percy Crawford. Speak of the Devil and all that, he supposed.

He continued to watch as the group crossed over to the large bar in the next room over and began to loudly order a smattering of pints and whiskeys, downing the latter as quickly as they could be distributed. They spoke to each other with loud, brash voices that were in no way appropriate for a gentleman, or were in no way befitting of what other gentlemen should have to endure in their own clubs at midday. If it was after midnight, then Harry would understand a bit of jovial fun, but before? Absurd. Even for men as young and open-minded as Harry and his friends, he thought as he looked around the room to where other, even older, gentlemen were rustling and fidgeting to display their discontent.

Because of what Louis had said that fateful night when they kissed, and ever since they had come back to town, Harry had been attempting to be forgiving of Percy Crawford, but that was made more and more difficult as Harry watched him with his own two eyes drink a rather obscene amount of whiskey and chase it with a full pint of ale.

Did they think White’s was some kind of low rent pub? Harry didn’t even know they _served_ ale at White’s. Not that he had any issue with a pub whatsoever, Harry loved pubs, but there was a code of conduct at White’s that these gentlemen were not adhering to in the slightest.

Niall and Liam had both abandoned their papers and this point and had righted their more relaxed postures as the whole room had. All eyes were peeled on the intruders.

Harry was sure they were members, so intruders may not have been entirely accurate. A nuisance. That was a better way to describe them; they were a nuisance.

Liam leaned in so that just Niall and Harry would hear him over the din of both the young men and the increasing unrest amongst the other members.

“Do you see that man, there?” Liam very subtly gestured to a tall, thin, blond man on the edge of the circle. His face was rougher-hewn, but he still oozed breeding. Harry and Niall both nodded. “I don’t know him by name, but I do know him by reputation. He’s said to be the one who’s bringing in large shipments of stolen goods from the China trade lately.”

Harry and Niall both leaned in conspiratorially. “How do you know that?” Harry asked. While that meant a lot of physical goods; porcelain, spices, silk, all materials that had significant tariffs, it also could very well mean opium.

“My sister’s husband has some connections in the East India Company. I’m not sure who, but he frequently hears tell of comings and goings around the port,” Liam divulged.

All three of the men went quiet and observed one of the stewards of the club calmly approaching the young men. There was a tense moment as he asked them to move on to a more appropriate part of the club or take their leave. Mr. Crawford kicked up a bit of a fuss complaining loudly, no doubt due to the large amount of drink he had consumed before they did eventually leave. Their presence hovered in the air for another few minutes as the men around them adjusted to the sudden relative silence.

“Well that was eventful,” Niall said as an aside to Harry and Liam to break the tension in the air. Liam chuckled and went back to reading, but Harry remained silent. He was troubled and was afraid to admit why.

Felicité wasn’t his sister, he knew that, but the voice in the back of his head was getting louder and louder as Percy Crawford’s sins mounted against him and the people with whom he chose to associate. The last time he had brought up the apparent match between Percy and Felicité, Louis had lambasted him, they had fought, and now they weren’t speaking to each other. Or at least not that either one was acknowledging.

Despite all of that, Harry couldn’t help but feel the need to say something. The urge to try and protect Felicité from this, by all accounts dreadful and toxic, influence on her life was overwhelming. If he said something now it was sure to drive a further wedge between Louis and himself, but it was also safe to say that their relationship had already been damaged.

Then again, they had shared one kiss. That wasn’t much to base anything off of if the lies Harry knew he was telling himself were to be believed.

The promise of the attraction and the hint of what could have been between Louis and himself was tantalising. When Harry was in the mood to be honest with himself, he would admit that he craved Louis more than anyone else he had ever been attracted to before.

And yet, he couldn’t sit idly by and watch a young woman’s life and reputation be ruined by a hotheaded, immature, young rake. Especially if he had even the slightest opportunity to stop it.

 

Two weeks later, Harry was still unsuccessful in his effort to warn Felicité away from Percy Crawford.

Much of those two weeks had been spent arguing with himself. He didn’t want to go directly to Felicité with his concerns, because he knew what it was to be young and fancy oneself in love. At the slightest suggestion that Mr. Crawford wasn’t a good match for her, she could go running straight into his arms and elope to Gretna Green the very next day. Nothing about Felicité indicated that she would act so irrationally and with such extreme disregard for her family, but Harry had not known her very long.

That meant going to Louis. Louis, who had very effectively rendered himself untouchable through the normal channels.

Harry had tried to very subtly go through Niall and Liam, making innocuous suggestions about Louis joining them at the club, or on a ride through the park. Neither one of them took, though, as Louis was preparing for the race at the Royal Ascot and was therefore constantly away training his horses.

The thought of Louis and horses warmed Harry from the inside out when he remembered that morning in Hyde Park when they first met. Idly, Harry wondered if Jasmine was one of the horses racing, but he doubted she would ever behave well enough to be seriously trained for racing like that. Then again, he didn’t know much about the sport.

As the race drew near, and Harry remained unsuccessful, he decided to instead wait until afterward to approach Louis with his new—admittedly tenuous—evidence against Percy Crawford. Louis didn’t need the added burden when he clearly had a lot on his mind.

The decision had absolutely nothing to do with Harry’s cowardice.

 

The day of the race dawned clear and blue. Perfect weather to make a day of it. Gemma was feeling much better, but Niall was beside himself with worry about the long carriage ride required to get there. She reminded him frequently that they would be staying the night, so there was certainly a place for her to retire if she felt ill at ease.

It never occurred to Harry to ask where their rather large party would be staying, but apparently, Louis owned a property near Ascot. Wonderful.

Niall and Gemma didn’t tell him until they were already waiting in the line of carriages to pull into the racetrack, thus giving him absolutely no option for escape.

Taking deep breaths, he leaned back against the leather seat of the carriage bench and closed his eyes.

He was a mature adult, and he could handle staying in Louis’ home. He wasn’t sure Louis knew either. Surely they would have had to keep it from him that Harry would be with them as well, or he never would have agreed to it.

“It will be crowded for tonight, it’s one of his smaller properties, but it is just a night,” Gemma reasoned after she had broken the news.

“Who else will be staying?” Harry asked, already regretting it.

“All of us, Liam, Fizzy, and Lottie,” she rattled off. “Oh, and Louis of course!”

“Eight total. That’s not too crowded, it should be fine,” Harry reasoned aloud, trying to convince himself he could definitely avoid Louis in his own home.

“Possibly nine, I’m not sure if Mr. Tennesley is staying as well. Louis may have extended an invitation to him; they are friends after all,” Gemma added.

Harry just barely bit his tongue to keep himself from making an unsavory comment about Mr. Tennesley and his definition of friendship. The man was a social-climbing weasel, and Harry was now strongly considering finding a pub in the village proper to take a room.

No. He would not be run out. He was going to be a gracious guest of Louis in his home, and that included being hospitable to the man’s friends, even if they were inhospitable in return.

“From what I understand, Louis’ mother is traveling ahead from Doncaster soon before the rest of the family follows for the Yuletide season,” Gemma mused as she rubbed her still very flat stomach under her gown.

Niall immediately asked after her health but she waved him off.

Harry couldn’t hold in the question on the tip of his tongue. “Why is his mother coming ahead?”

Gemma munched on the water crackers Niall had procured from somewhere entirely unknown to Harry. “With so many rumors surrounding Felicité and Percy Crawford, I assumed it was because they were going to begin gathering her trousseau. I’m also sure they thought about Lottie’s dowry first and foremost, so Louis may need to draw up an agreement about Felicité’s.”

Heavy dread settled in Harry’s stomach at the thought of Felicité preparing for such a wedding. She deserved someone who would appreciate her wit and beauty, and understand how special she was. For all that Harry didn’t know Percy Crawford very well, he knew the type, and he was not up to snuff.

“Have they checked their soulmarks, then?” Harry asked, swallowing against the arid feeling in his mouth and throat. It was an incredibly intimate question, he knew that, but he was in familiar company so he wasn’t worried about the implications of it.

Gemma was contemplative for a moment. “I don’t believe so, but I’m not sure.”

Harry waved her off. “I know their family values their marks highly,” he trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

Gemma scrunched her nose up. “I certainly hope they haven’t. Then this match might be saved.”

“You don’t agree with it either?” Harry asked, excitement laced through his voice. If his sister agreed with him, he might have some solid support.

“Well, yes. But it’s not my place—or yours—to say anything,” she told him pointedly. Harry’s excitement deflated and he fell back against the carriage bench again. “Louis isn’t far behind, I would imagine,” Gemma added casually.

Harry’s entire body stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“If Ambrose Tennesley has anything to say about it, he’ll be getting Louis to propose to him before the New Year. Or before the end of Epiphany at the very latest,” she said as though relaying the latest gossip, not unintentionally setting off a spark of jealousy that Harry had never before realised he possessed.

“Louis is not going to marry Ambrose,” Niall scoffed, finally chiming in from the bench on Gemma’s other side.

“Not if you hear him tell it,” Gemma said indignantly.

“Who? Hear Louis tell it?” Harry asked frantically.

Gemma shook her head. “No, no. Ambrose. He thinks he’s dead on leading the horse to water.”

“Not going to happen. Not Lou,” Niall added dismissively. “He may check their marks, I’ll give you that. But I’ll be damned if they are soulmates.”

“What makes you so sure,” his wife challenged him, closing the gap between their faces confrontationally.

Niall darted a glance at Harry. He was saved, though, by the arrival of their carriage at the gate where they were to be dropped off and they needed to show their invitations.

Their time from then on was taken up by attempting to find and then settle into their box. Lottie and Felicité were already there, having arrived extra early with Louis, but Liam hadn’t arrived at all yet.

The races were short eventful bursts of energy peppering an otherwise fairly long and boring day if Harry had to admit it. He was sure it would be different if he knew anything about horses, but generally speaking, he didn’t.

Louis’ horses won one race and lost the second if Lottie and Felicité were to be believed, but once his second race was done, Harry decided it was definitely time for the tea tent. He was parched.

Upon entering the tent, he could tell he had stumbled upon the veritable lion’s den of society matrons. Every single one seemed to stop and look at him when he entered on his own. He wasn’t quite sure what to say or how to handle the awkwardness.

Pretend it didn’t exist. That was what he needed to do. Enter the tent, casually retrieve some tea and cakes, and leave the tent.

Halfway through his very careful, but still shaky, pouring of his tea, he sensed a presence at the other end of the table.

Harry looked up, only to be met with the sharp cheekbones, soft fluffy chestnut hair, and aura of ability and confidence that had haunted his dreams.

“Louis,” he breathed out unconsciously. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, and Louis clearly had not noticed Harry before then, because he startled a bit, and almost spilled out his entire teacup. “Hello,” Harry croaked out when they finally made eye contact.

Something visibly slammed into place then, Harry wasn’t sure what it was, but suddenly Louis stood up straighter and puffed his chest out the slightest bit.

“Mr. Styles,” he nodded politely. Overly politely. The kind of polite that was too polite to the point of being rude.

Harry was taken aback. He tried to will himself to say something else, but soon enough, Louis was nodding tersely, turning on his heel, and walking away.

His reaction was confusing, to say the least. Harry knew they had been avoiding each other, but this reaction was much colder and pointed than directly ignoring someone. As though something had changed in the week or so since he had last seen Louis in a ballroom and they had pretended to be on separate continents.

Lady Tattingford. She must have said something to him about their exchange. Or Ambrose for that matter, Harry thought. Either one of them could have said something about their exchanges with Harry after Louis had left the countryside. Harry wasn’t sure why either one of them would, he would imagine they had more pride than that, but he supposed if their main goal was to undermine Harry’s already tenuous relationship with Louis, the confession could have served a greater purpose.

Feeling decidedly alone in the tea tent again under the intense scrutiny of the society women, Harry abandoned his tea and cakes.

Again he found himself desperate to hunt Louis down so he could try and explain himself. It felt as though Louis Tomlinson was leading Harry on a wild goose chase and neither one of them knew what the purpose of it was.


	8. Chapter 8

Other than the meeting in the tea tent, staying with Louis was entirely uneventful. When they retired after the races, there was a large dinner prepared for them, but Louis wasn’t in attendance. Apparently, he stayed and ate with his grooms and stable hands frequently on race days, wanting to be there when the veterinarian examined the horses himself to make sure they were alright.

Harry begrudgingly admired his dedication to the animals. He did not need another reason to admire Viscount Loring beyond the obvious lust.

Ambrose Tennesley didn’t stay with them at the house, deciding instead to stay with Lady Tattingford and her husband. _Good riddance_ , Harry thought with only a twinge of guilt after their conversation had left such a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

Sick of his missteps and miscommunications with Louis, Harry barely lasted a day after they had their minor confrontation in the tea tent and they had all returned to London before he decided to call on Louis at home.

The stones in front of the Tomlinson’s townhouse in Grosvenor Square clicked underneath Harry’s feet as he paced back and forth debating whether or not to go through with his plan. There was still time for him to turn back, he didn’t have to tell Louis off about Percy Crawford.

The front door opened rather suddenly and a woman stepped out onto the top of the steps but was calling indeterminately into the house behind her. Harry couldn’t see her face, just the back of her hat and gown, but her voice was boisterous and friendly.

“Felicité, darling!” she called out. Felicité must have answered, though Harry couldn’t hear it. The woman shook her head before turning around fully.

Her gaze scanned and she was very clearly searching for the carriage on the street. There was no carriage as Harry had walked from Niall’s house across the square, and her own had not been brought around. She paused as she realised this, and her gaze landed on Harry for the first time.

She was around his mother’s age with a slightly softened, but still very handsome figure. Her gown was made of fine silk, and wisps of her auburn hair were escaping underneath the large brim of her elaborate bonnet as though the wind had been blowing even while she was still inside the house. Harry would have felt immediately at ease by her presence, had she not pierced him with excruciatingly familiar crystal blue eyes.

“Hello, there!” she called out, waving to Harry where he was standing on the street but very obviously in front of their home.

“Hello, madam,” Harry replied with a generous sense of caution. He scrambled to come up with a reason why he should be loitering in front of their home, but quickly realised the truth was actually an acceptable reason. “My name is Harry Styles, I’m here to call on L— Viscount Loring, do you happen to know if he’s in?”

The woman, who he could only presume was Louis’ mother, smiled at him warmly. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Styles. Louis is at home, you can head on in and give your card to Wadsworth.” She winked as the carriage pulled up behind him, and at the last minute he remembered his manners and helped her into it as the footman faded into the background.

Felicité glided down the steps, done up to match her mother for the errands they were sure to be on their way to, and her eyes lit up when she saw him. “Harry!”

“Miss Tomlinson,” Harry bowed and helped her into the carriage when she approached as well.

“Are you here to see Louis, then?” she asked once she was settled, with the skepticism clear in her voice.

Harry nodded slightly, darting a glance to her mother who was watching them shrewdly, and addressing Felicité through the window. “I am. Though, I’m not sure if he will accept my call or not, we shall see. Have a wonderful day ladies,” he added, attempting to be as charming as possible.

Felicité nodded in understanding. Lady Tomlinson said nothing, but Harry would be surprised if she didn’t press Felicité for details as soon as their carriage had pulled away.

Meeting Lady Tomlinson, and speaking with Felicité had bought Harry a bit of time and a distraction before he needed to go into the house, but those were through now. There was nothing left but to leave his card.

The weather was nice enough for England that the butler, Wadsworth, hadn’t closed the front door behind the ladies. Instead, he was standing at the top of the step outside waiting for Harry to approach. Harry reached into his pocket and fingered the edge of thick cream stock that bore his name and no address, though that would have been customary. He was too nomadic for a permanently engraved address, and that gave him pause. He didn’t want that kind of life any more, as much as he missed being out on the road. Harry wanted to settle down and have a family.

Harry handed the card to the gentleman. “Harry Styles to see Viscount Loring. And please inform him that his family has just told me he’s in, even if he wished they hadn’t.”

It would be ridiculously rude for Louis to refuse Harry at this point, and all three of them, the butler included, knew that. Harry was still unsure if Louis would or not as Wadsworth led him into the receiving room to wait.

Harry perched himself on the edge of a settee as he admired the splendor of the sitting room he had been deposited in for the time being. The ceilings were high and the furnishings were ornate but comfortable, lived in, despite this room being a formal space. They saw a lot of guests in this home, which made sense given everything Harry had experienced of Louis Tomlinson. He had people coming out of the woodwork ready to defend his honor or stake some kind of claim on him, however inappropriate it may be.

He didn’t have much longer to wait before he could hear Louis footfalls coming down the stairs, but he was positive Louis wasn’t aware that Harry could hear him approach as the footsteps made a definitive pause just out of sight, as though Louis was preparing himself for their meeting.

To know that even in a position of strength in their interaction, Louis was still nervous about meeting with Harry, somehow allowed Harry to relax and feel a little less ill at ease, or like he was intruding.

Even though he was definitely intruding and sticking his nose into another family’s business where it didn’t belong.

Louis crossed into the doorway and Harry was once again taken aback by how handsome he was; he wondered if he would ever be immune to it.

“Mr. Styles,” Louis said curtly, pointedly not using Harry’s first name.

Harry decided to play along. “Lord Tomlinson,” he replied with a slightly exaggerated bow.

Louis silently indicated that Harry should take a seat in the chair across from the one he was approaching. Once they were both settled, the room was silent as they stared at each other awkwardly.

Harry was overcome by remorse that their intense flirtation in the first few days they knew each other had been reduced to this tense, difficult thing.

Louis cleared his throat. “I must confess, I was confused by your call.”

“Given how you behaved at the races?” Harry blurt out. Both he and Louis stiffened and Harry cursed his own lack of filter. Something about this gentleman—this viscount—brought out the absolute worst in him.

The cerulean of Louis’ eyes turned to slate, and his features hardened as his countenance became decidedly less proper and polite.

“Given how I have behaved?” he asked indignantly. “My behavior is not the one to be called into question here!”

“What?” Harry was confused. For all that he had been a bit naughty when they were flirting—and kissing—Louis had been an equal partner in it. His judgment of Harry’s behaviour was surprising, but decidedly not why Harry was there. He wanted to say his piece before they got too far off track.

Harry shook his head. “No. Nevermind. No matter how you feel about me, please listen to what I have to say so I can leave and no longer burden you with my presence.” The biting tone he was using did nothing to soften Louis’ features which was unsurprising.

“Fine,” Louis spat out.

Harry paused, knowing that what he was about to say would garner a negative reaction the same way it did last time. “It’s about Felicité.”

Louis narrowed his eyes at Harry and asked with heavy skepticism. “What about Felicité?”

“Her relationship with Percy Crawford,” Harry added. Before the end of Crawford’s name was out of his mouth, Louis was already rolling his eyes.

“Harry, how many times are you going to harp on this?” he asked exasperatedly. Harry chose not to point out that he had gone back to using his first name, no doubt out of frustration.

“I’m going to keep making the argument until someone listens. Percy Crawford is an unsavory character and is not deserving of your sister. He associates with other equally unsavory people, and I believe he is trying to take advantage of her in some way,” Harry said ending definitively and finally taking a breath.

“‘In some way.’ Do you know how he’s trying to take advantage of her? Do you have any evidence of any of these claims against him?” Louis prodded.

“Well, no,” Harry admitted.

“See! You don’t have any proof, Harry. I’m not sure what your obsession is with Percy Crawford, but you need to let this go.” Louis stood up and began pacing.

Harry remained seated and attempted to remain calm. “It’s not about Percy Crawford,” he insisted.

“No? Then what’s it about?”

“Her!” Harry cried out. “She’s bright, and beautiful, and witty, and has a wonderful heart. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if she was heartbroken and I stood idly by and watched when I could have done something.”

Louis came back over to the chair and made a placating gesture that Harry was sure would have been much more effective if he wasn’t convinced that Louis hadn’t heard a word he said. “I appreciate that you’re concerned, but in my admittedly limited dealings with him, he seems fine. Any young rake out to sow his wild oats is never going to feel good enough for one of my sisters, but he also needs to at least be given the chance to settle down.”

“But what if he never settles down?” Harry asked, their voices finally lowering naturally to a normal pitch and volume.

Louis sighed. “I don’t know, Harry, but who’s to even say they’re soulmates? It may end up not being Fizzy’s burden,” he added pausing for a moment. Harry chose to bite his tongue against that particular argument for the time being. “I have five sisters. At a certain point, I can’t hover around them and monitor everything that they do. Believe me, when I was younger, I tried. It’s exhausting.”

While they had reached a certain level of tranquility, Harry knew he was about to ruin it once again, but the comment Louis had made at the beginning of the conversation about his behaviour was weighing on his mind. After everything Harry had to endure from Lady Tattingford and Ambrose, it was unfair of Louis to pass judgments on Harry’s character. “Do you really think you’re the best judge when it comes to this sort of thing?”

Louis tensed again. “What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, your ‘friends’ as you say aren’t exactly the most upstanding loyal people.” Harry bit out with more venom than he had even expected.

“You’re one to talk with how you’ve behaved towards them,” Louis cried out practically lunging out of the chair.

Anger rose in Harry’s chest. “How I have behaved? What else was I supposed to say when I was being propositioned? I was trying to leave the conversation with everyone’s dignity in tact. I’ve never said anything about it to a single soul.”

Louis’ brow furrowed. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Lady Tattingford. I was trying to preserve her privacy and dignity,” Harry added.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Oh, how very kind of you after insulting her so egregious.”

“I—” Harry paused. “I mean, I suppose I may have insulted her by refusing her. But the alternative was entering into an affair with her.” His distaste for that particular option must have been clear enough because it brought Louis up short.

“You refused her?”

Still worked up, Harry replied indignantly. “Of course I refused her!” He took a deep breath recognising his overreaction. “Not only is she both married and a woman, both of which would cause me to immediately lose interest in the first place, she is also a close friend of yours and that wouldn’t feel… appropriate.” He trailed off as the implications of what he was saying settled in the room between them.

Louis’ eyes widened and he gaped at Harry for a moment. “You said friends,” he croaked out, finally.

“Hmm?” Harry was distracted by the pink of Louis’ cheekbones that most certainly matched his own. He couldn’t believe he had admitted that.

“Friends. Plural.” Louis cleared his throat.

It took Harry a moment to recall why he had, in fact, implied that there were multiple friends. “Ambrose Tennesley,” he blurt out.

Louis glared at him again. “What about Ambrose?”

Louis’ body language made it clear that he was more prepared than ever to defend the honor of his friends. They were already much deeper into this conversation than Harry had ever imagined. He meant only to say his peace about Crawford and leave.

Emboldened, Harry stood up as he said, “Mr. Tennesley has warned me to stay away from you.” At that, Louis stood up again as well. “Rest assured,” Harry continued. “I told him it was none of his affair, and that if you took offense to my association, you would tell me yourself. You’ve made it very clear how you feel on the subject by avoiding me for weeks. Now, I’ve said all that I need to say regarding your sister, and I will take my leave.” Harry bowed again before turning on his heel to exit the room.

“Harry, wait.” Louis grabbed his right arm to prevent him from leaving the room. Harry cursed himself for how instinctually he responded to Louis’ directive.

“I had a feeling you were upset with me for avoiding you, but that’s no reason to take it out on the people who are close to me.”

Hurt washed through Harry and he shrugged off Louis’ hand that was still resting on his arm. “Take it out on them? Please, Louis. You are loyal, which I admire, but you are loyal to a fault in this case. They are trying to take advantage of you. Tennesley is running around town sure that he’s your soulmate and you’re a hair's breadth away from falling to your knees and proposing to him. I’m not sure what Lady Tattingford is playing at, and I don’t know what she told you. I can only say that I never entered into an intimate relationship with her.”

They were getting more and more heated with each other again, and Louis was lashing out. “I know them,” Louis said forcefully.

Harry shook his head at the man’s stubbornness and attempted to remember that he was supposed to be angry with Louis, which meant ignoring the heat he could feel pumping through his veins and the tug of arousal that came from such close proximity.

“It’s for that very reason that I believe you can’t see what they’re doing.”

“Harry—You’re just—” Louis’ hand flew up and he dug his fingers into his hair in frustration, leaving it even messier than it had been. Harry wanted to do the same thing; trail his fingers through Louis’ hair, basking in the softness of it as they lay in bed together.

Somehow, Louis must have been able to read his thoughts, and Harry probably should have been more embarrassed by that, but next thing he knew Louis was gripping his shoulders and bringing their lips together again.

Kissing Louis again for the first time in weeks felt like taking a cool sip of water on a hot day, but also somehow felt like mulled wine at Yuletide. Harry could feel himself warming from the inside out as they moved together. Louis pulled back and nipped at Harry’s bottom lip as they both took in a harsh, shaky breath.

“Is this alright?” Louis whispered into Harry’s mouth, as their noses bumped.

“Yes,” Harry gasped as Louis cut off the end of the syllable by kissing him again. He gave into his earlier urge as he brought his hand up to caress the growing beard on Louis’ cheek and dig the tips of his fingers into the hair at the back of his neck above his collar.

Harry wished he could wrap his arms around Louis’ neck and bring them even closer, but his jacket was too confining. All he wanted to do was rip every restrictive piece of clothing off, but nudity was dangerous territory given how sensitive both of them were on the subject of soulmarks.

This was a kiss. Giving in to lust. That’s all it was, there was no need for them to see each other’s soulmark.

Something clattered in the hallway outside, and Harry was instantly reminded that they were not alone. The doorway to the sitting room was wide open, anyone, any servant could have walked by at any moment. They probably had already.

Louis pulled back too, but he kept a firm grip on Harry’s waist. “Privacy. Upstairs?” He was panting heavily, and his cheeks were flushed again. Harry’s brain was equally scrambled, but he understood what Louis was asking.

Harry nodded and Louis stepped away from him fully as they straightened themselves out. Louis reached for Harry’s hand and gripped it tight in his own as he led him towards the door to the formal staircase.

Servants were less likely to gossip if it looked as though they were moving throughout the house with official business. Harry was sure there was a more private sitting room or the like upstairs, and it would not be untoward for Louis to bring guests up there.

With one hand behind him keeping a firm hold on Harry’s, Louis paused in the doorway. There was no sign of any servants, and all Harry could hear was his own erratic heartbeat.

Still not letting go of Harry’s hand, Louis practically dragged him upstairs. They passed through a formal sitting room, but Louis didn’t stop until he had pressed open a door in the back corner of the room, leading Harry into a study.

The room did have a main door that connected to the hallway, and Louis finally let go of his grip to cross the room and close that, leaving Harry to lean his hip against the massive, beautifully crafted mahogany desk, centered so that Louis’ back would be to the large window over the back garden.

As Harry waited for Louis, he admired the large wingback chair behind the desk. There was a pattern embossed into the deep burgundy velvet, and there was a particular patch of fabric on one arm that was worn to threads, as though Louis leaned on that side specifically. While that was endearing, all Harry could picture was Louis casually and confidently leaning to one side as he looked down to watch Harry on his knees.

Harry hooked a finger into his starchy collar points, no doubt ruining the shape of his cravat, as he swallowed dryly.

Without saying anything, Louis glided back into Harry’s personal space, bringing his hands down to shift Harry’s hips until his bum was perched on the edge of the desk. Tentatively, he bent one finger under Harry’s chin and lifted his head up until they had locked eyes again.

 _Tell me if this is alright_. Harry could read the message loud and clear on Louis’ face. If he put a halt to this right now, Louis would respect his decision.

He didn’t want to put a stop to it.

He nodded, and Louis leaned in farther to nip at Harry’s bottom lip, teasing his tongue across the seam of Harry’s mouth. Harry opened his mouth slightly to allow him entry but decided to take the reins by licking into Louis’ mouth and deepening their kiss.

Louis made a soft “Mmph” as his fingers tightened, digging into the soft, sensitive flesh of Harry’s hips through his breeches. If he pushed Louis harder, his grip might get tight enough to bruise if it hadn’t already.

Driving Harry mad, Louis pressed his hips in until Harry could feel the ridge of his cock where he had hardened in his breeches against his own.

Both of them were restless in their movements, but neither one jumped to remove any of their clothing. For all that Harry was allowing Louis plenty of freedoms, that still felt like a step too far.

Louis began to kiss down Harry’s neck again the same way he had that fateful night on the balcony. Thoughts of the weeks after that when Louis avoided him and prayed it would not be the same this time. He did his best to push that to the back of his mind as Louis didn’t hesitate this time to rough up Harry’s cravat and push it out of the way until he was sucking a bruise on the tender skin of Harry’s neck.

Harry’s head dropped back and he let out a moan as the quick bite of pain from Louis’ teeth zipped through him giving way to a flood of pleasure.

Now that Harry had broken the charged silence, Louis snapped out of his trance. “So beautiful,” he rasped out as he kissed across Harry’s jaw, stopping to press a peck to his lips before traveling up the other side. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Me too,” Harry confessed, voice heavy with lust. “Please,” he begged, not able to form the words.

Louis took his mouth again, long and deep and searching until Harry’s lungs were burning. “What would you like?”

“Want to taste you,” Harry moaned desperately. The image of Louis in his chair, looming over Harry, would not go away.

Louis reared back, tugging at the tattered remains of the linen in Harry’s neckline until it fell away completely and he could stuff it into the pocket of his own jacket.

Sick of waiting, Harry pressed his palms flat against Louis’ chest and began leading him around the back of the desk. They continued to take brief sips from each other’s mouths until Harry could get Louis positioned in front of the seat of the chair. He gave Louis’ chest one final push but it was a tad more violent than he originally intended, and Louis ricocheted until he was sprawled in the seat of the chair.

He opened his mouth to protest, but Harry didn’t want to bother explaining so he dropped to his knees. Louis gasped and brought his hands up to rest on Harry’s shoulders. He couldn’t tell if Louis was trying to stop him, push him down further, or was simply overwhelmed.

Harry reached for the placket of Louis’ buckskin breeches stretched across his length, but his hands were shaking and he struggled with the small ornate buttons in his desperation. Louis saved him once again and rushed to get them undone with one hand as the other dug into the hair at the top of Harry’s head.

As Louis undid the buttons and peeled the front of his breeches back, Harry spared a thought for the fabric at the knees of his own breeches. Hopefully, Louis’ rug would be enough to keep him from wearing them down too much.

When Louis’ cock came into view Harry gripped the base with his hand, before giving it a few tugs. Louis moaned and threw his head back letting it bounce for a moment against the upholstery of the chair and his fingers tightened, pulling against Harry’s scalp.

Harry had to breathe against the spikes of pleasure everytime Louis tugged. He was struggling in the position he was in because the sleeves of his jacket were constricting his movement. After a few more glides of his palm over Louis’ cock, the movement became too tiresome.

Harry shifted his weight so that he was directly on his knees and lifted up a bit more. He grasped his hands together behind his back and centered his mouth over Louis’ cock before raising his gaze to Louis’ unsure of how to ask for help.

It took Louis a moment, but Harry could tell when he understood because he swore under his breath and wrapped his own hand around the base of his cock.

When everything was in place, Harry leaned down and licked across the tip, taking an extra few seconds to savor Louis’ taste in his mouth. Satisfied, he let his jaw relax and wrapped his lips around Louis’ shaft fully, taking as much as he could in one go.

While Harry had done this a few times before, it had been quite some time. He concentrated on breathing through his nose as he let the fullness of his mouth overpower the rest of his senses. The blood was pounding in his ears but he could still vaguely hear Louis whimpering and moaning making breathy little noises.

The more Harry catered to his pleasure, the more uncontrolled Louis’ movements got, and soon he was using his grip on Harry’s hair to guide him rhythmically up and down over his cock.

Neither one of them heard the first knock at the door.

Fortunately, Louis’ butler was trained well enough that he knocked a second time before calling out. “My lord? Are you in there?”

Louis’ rhythm faltered and Harry choked on him for a moment before Louis quickly pulled him off. They both stared at each other with wide, crazed eyes, panting heavily as they assessed the situation.

“One moment!” Louis cried, frantically before searching around the room, presumably for a place for Harry to go.

There were only two exits, both very public. They didn’t have the luxury of choice.

Harry saw the solution before Louis did. Quickly, with one hand gripping the fabric that was keeping his own cock confined to avoid injury, Harry crawled into the opening under Louis’ desk. It was completely enclosed, no one would be able to see him.

“What are you doing?” Louis hissed.

“Sit down,” Harry croaked, his voice utterly ravished.

Louis gripped the arms of the chair and pulled it up as close as he could to the edge of the desk, effectively hiding his legs and Harry from the main entrance to the room.

“Are you all set?” Louis whispered.

Harry leaned his forehead against one of Louis’ covered knees. “Yes, I’m alright.”

Louis cleared his throat. “Come in, Wadsworth.”

Harry was impressed with how calm and collected he sounded.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” the butler said as he entered the room. “I have a few inquiries about this evening’s meal.”

“Of course,” Louis replied. Harry’s heartbeat was returning to a slightly more even pace and he was curled up between Louis’ legs on the floor. His cock had flagged a bit, but it was still impressively half hard, lying there out in the open. Neither one of them had thought to refasten Louis’ breeches.

“The cook would like to know if venison stew is suitable this evening,” the butler continued. Desperation was still ringing in Harry’s veins and now that he had tasted Louis, he craved him. There was nothing keeping him from finishing what he started.

The thought of someone catching him under the desk, seeing him on his knees, servicing Louis, pushed Harry over the edge. He leaned over and gingerly took the head of Louis’ cock into his mouth again.

Louis startled a bit halfway through an exchange about vegetables and scratched his nails across Harry’s scalp as a warning.

“Very well, my lord. Also, Mr. Tennesley is on the list for this evening’s meal, but it seems he is here early. I wasn’t aware that Mr. Styles had left.” He paused thoughtfully. “Would you like me to send in Mr. Tennesley?”

Harry took his mouth off of Louis and nipped his thigh partly in question, partly in protest.

“Yes,” Louis cleared his throat. “Send him up.”

That meant Harry would have to stop which was the last thing he wanted to do. Louis had quickly hardened again under Harry’s light ministrations, but he had asked Ambrose to be let in anyway.

Harry was too aroused, too on edge to feel awkward about the fact that they had just been discussing the man in question before their conversation had devolved.

As soon as the door clicked behind the butler, Louis shifted a bit in his chair until the toe of his Hessian boot was wedged under Harry’s leg.

“You have to be quiet,” Louis whispered before feeling with his fingers around Harry’s hairline and stroking back along the waves of his hair briefly.

That was not a request to stop.

Harry bit down on his grin before shifting in closer to Louis while he still had the freedom to do so.

He could hear the click of boots in the hallway and as they entered the room.

“Ambrose,” Louis greeted as the other man entered.

Harry swallowed him as far down as he possibly could and then a little more. He relaxed his muscles and just barely kept himself from choking as he felt Louis hit the very back of his throat.

Louis’ legs jumped but other than that, Harry couldn’t tell if he had any kind of visible reaction above the desk.

“Louis,” Ambrose replied in that sniveling condescending voice of his.

Harry backed off to take a breath before teasing around the head of Louis’ cock with his tongue. He still couldn’t use his hands at all as they were trapped behind him, so he had to rely on his mouth. Vaguely, he could hear that Louis and Ambrose were talking about something, but all he could concentrate on was the imperceptible, subtle thrusts Louis was beginning to make whenever Harry had him engulfed in his throat.

“Is everything alright, Louis?” Ambrose asked, concern lacing his voice. “You seem flushed, and fidgety.”

It was all Harry could do not to moan at the implication of how much he was affecting Louis. Almost immediately Louis pressed the heel of his palm to Harry’s cheek and nudged him to get him to pull back. Harry obeyed, resting his head against Louis' leg as he began to shift his hips rutting against Louis’ other leg, desperate for friction on his own cock.

Louis dug his fingers into Harry’s hair again. “I’m fine. You know me, can’t sit still.”  Harry could hear the slight panting in his breath. “Well, I still have a few things to finish up here. My mother and Felicity should be home, might you call for some tea to the drawing room? Downstairs,” he said with extreme finality in his voice—a dismissal if Harry had ever heard one.

He tried not to be too pleased with himself for being the one so deserving of Louis’ full attention.

There was a lengthy pause as they waited for Ambrose’ answer, and Harry licked out to catch a dribble of precome from Louis’ tip before it could fall onto the thigh of his breeches and ruin the fabric.

“Very well,” Ambrose said before sighing and standing up. “Don’t be too long, then,” he added with a teasing lilt to his voice.

If Harry could have glared at him, he would have. Instead, he just swallowed Louis again, determined to bring him to release.

Completely uncaring of who was still in the room or not, Harry bobbed his head up and down quickly. Some of the tension left Louis’ legs and he began making breathy noises in the back of his throat again. They were both too desperate to take the time to allow Harry to move.

Louis moved his hand to the back of Harry’s head and held him down with his nose pressed to the short, coarse hair around the base of his cock. “Ah!” he yelped, before moaning again. “Harry!”

With that warning, Harry could feel him release down his throat and he worked quickly to swallow it all.

Finally, Louis pushed back the chair and fell clumsily to his knees as well as he dragged Harry out from under the desk and pushed him down until Harry could feel the grain of the carpet through the layers on his back.

Louis started to fumble with the placket of Harry’s breeches, but Harry could feel his broken whine in protest deep in the back of his throat. He wouldn’t last that long.

Understanding Harry’s predicament, Louis reached down and began to caress Harry through his breeches.

Harry’s vision was going black around the edges and he squeezed his eyes shut. He had just pleasured Louis while someone else—his rival, which was too much to think about at the moment—was in the room. All he could feel was his sore jaw, and sore throat and Louis hovering over him enveloping his senses and he was about to completely ruin his breeches with the orgasm that was hovering in the base of his spine, building in waves through his body.

Louis switched the hand that was rubbing Harry through his breeches with the hand that was holding his upper body up, and when it was on the way back down to the floor, his hand dragged across Harry’s jacket, bumping the area right where his soulmark was.

That was all it took for his release to overtake him as he shot into his trousers.

They were both gasping for breath as Louis’ elbow gave way and he collapsed onto the carpet next to Harry. Staring up at the ceiling, they stayed like that for a few moments before Louis sat up.

“Oh, God,” he breathed out. “What have we done?”

Harry was still waiting for his erratic heartbeat to get under control. He stretched out his muscles from where he had been trapped under the desk.

Louis’ crisis of conscience was written all over his face, and Harry knew the end of this discussion was going to be less than satisfactory. He sat up to match Louis’ posture but leaned his back against the front of the desk as they locked eyes on each other.

“We have to stop doing this,” Louis said, his voice frantic. “We need to try and stop…” he trailed off as he indicated the space between them.

Harry did his best to swallow against the bile that had risen up. “Was it that unsatisfactory?” he asked snarkily.

“No,” Louis cried out as though it pained him. “That’s the worst part.”

They stared at each other having reached an impasse until the sound from the drawing room downstairs began to seep up through the floor. They could just barely hear the muted sounds of Ambrose talking to Louis’ mother and sisters.

“Do you really think he’s your soulmate?” Harry needed to know. More accurately, the jealousy that pushed him to be the one that had Louis’ undivided attention and that made him crave Louis’ touch needed to know.

“Harry,” Louis pleaded. But he didn’t get to finish his thought as there was another commotion out in the foyer. It sounded like it was merely the servants up and about, but either way it spooked them both. “You need to get out of here.”

Harry begrudgingly agreed as they both stood up and pulled themselves together. His breeches hadn’t soaked through completely yet, and he prayed anything in them would dry before it did, but that would be a stroke of luck he wasn’t holding out for at the moment.

They both looked disheveled, and he knew that if he was seen by any member of Louis’ household, they would be thoroughly compromised. Louis dug Harry’s cravat out of his pocket and handed it to him. Harry stared at it for a moment before tying it around his neck in something resembling a proper knot.

“The servants’ stairs,” Louis whispered as he checked the sitting room he had led Harry through not more than thirty minutes prior. At the back of that room, there was an entrance to the dark, cramped servants’ passage. “Down two flights, take a left and then a right, and you can sneak out through the kitchen.”

The warmth from Louis’ hand burned through the no longer crisp fabric of Harry’s coat and linen shirtsleeves. His head was still fuzzy from their activities in the study and the abruptness with which their meeting had ended.

He moved to go downstairs, but that same hand stopped him once again. Louis tilted his head up in their close quarters and looked at Harry with an earnest gaze. He looked like he was about to kiss Harry again, but he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Please. Not until you’re ready,” he added before ripping his arm away and running down the steps.

Because it hadn’t occurred to him before this afternoon, and he wasn’t sure why. The signs were all there, and obvious if one knew what one was looking for, but in his own defence he hadn’t been looking. He had actively tried to avoid looking, but fate had found him anyway.

Now, Harry was almost entirely convinced that Lord Louis Tomlinson, Viscount Loring, was his soulmate.


	9. Chapter 9

Louis flipped another page of the dailies that he hadn’t come close to absorbing or even reading for that matter. He huffed out a breath and straightened the pages out.

Fizzy, Lottie, and his mother were all sitting on the other side of the room with their embroidery chatting about this and that. Gossip, fabrics, ribbons, bows, all things that Louis tried to take an interest in to support them in their endeavours, but always failed miserably.

Between being lost in his own thoughts, and their constant din of chatter, he was never going to get anything done. Not that he had much on at the moment anyway. Nothing to distract him.

He sighed heavily and shifted in his chair, putting his boots up on the footstool in front of the chair.

The other voices in the room went silent and Louis felt the tension in his shoulders mount as he waited for one of his sisters to bother him about his mood.

“Louis, darling, what’s wrong?” It wasn’t a sister, it was his mother.

“Hmm?” he pretended like she had broken his concentration.

“I know you’re not reading that, you’ve been fidgety all morning. Now, what’s the matter?” she pressed.

“Nothing, mother,” he said warmly and he hoped convincingly.

She stared at him for another moment as though she was trying to read his thoughts. If there really was a God, she would never be able to even remotely guess what was on his mind.

“If you say so, darling.” He thought that was the end of it, but he should have known better. “But, you know, if we’re really being that much of a bother you can always go to your study. I can send Wadsworth in with some tea.”

“No!” Louis cried out, startling his companions. He cleared his throat. “I mean, no, thank you. You’re not a bother and I rather enjoy spending time with all of you.”

His mother assessed him shrewdly once again. “Very well,” she said. All returned to normal.

There was a slight possibility that Louis was avoiding his own study. He blushed and sank deeper into the chair, bringing the newspaper up higher to block any view of his face. He hadn’t gone back in there since the afternoon Harry had left, two days prior.

Every time he thought about going in there all he could think about was Harry on his knees, looking up at him sinfully with his lips...

These were not thoughts he should be having in the company of his mother and his sisters.

He was sure that if he went into his study, he would not be able to function. He wasn’t even sure he could function outside of his study yet. His mind would forever be plagued by those images, those feelings.

Louis was no blushing virgin before his encounters with Harry, to be sure. He had a little fun after his broken engagement with Lavinia, as his friends liked to remind him from time to time. Nothing had ever felt like it had that afternoon with Harry, nothing could have prepared him for that. The air between them had been heavy and tense and overwhelming.

When he had heard that Harry was there to call on him, and his mother had given away that he was at home, he had been dreading the meeting. His carefully cultivated plan to completely avoid Harry and have nothing to do with him anymore had been shattered the second he laid eyes on the man.

The afternoon light had danced through his curls, and he had looked so earnest in his defence of Felicité. Even when Louis wanted to tear his hair own hair out in frustration, he couldn’t deny that Harry was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

And he hadn’t backed down. Being a viscount, having money, being titled, having come into his title fairly young, Louis was used to people kowtowing to his wishes. That was the natural order of the society in which they lived. He tried his best not to take advantage of that, he really did. He didn’t discriminate when choosing his friends, someone’s title didn’t make them who they were, but it was still natural that most people deferred to him.

Harry didn’t. Especially when it came to Percy Crawford. Louis wanted to sigh again, but he cut it off to prevent the present company from bothering him any more than they had already.

Percy Crawford. This man was becoming more and more of a thorn in Louis’ side. He saw what Harry was saying, he did, truly. Louis had chalked it up to the man being young and immature and stupid. Many men went through that phase. Louis loved teasing Liam about his own, it was one of his favorite pastimes.

Louis liked to think he had mostly avoided it. After all, he needed to grow up quickly when he was that age given he came into his title. All of a sudden he had a mother and four sisters to care for and feed, clothe, and keep in the lifestyle to which they had become accustomed.

He learned about estate management, and how much money he was making and losing. It only took him a few months of sleepless nights before he realised that they had much more than an average household—even amongst the ton—and there wasn’t anything for him to worry about. After that, he had relaxed a bit more and learned to enjoy life for what it was.

Then, his mother married John, had two more children, and now they were one big, happy family. They were actually happy, Louis thought to himself. It was rare for a family to be as tightly knit as his was, he knew.

Which was why he needed to investigate Percy Crawford.

Louis knew that he had been avoiding it just to be defiant. Deep down he was hoping that Crawford’s arrogance and pompous posturing was his youth and immaturity, and Louis was also secretly hoping that there was no way he and Fizzy were soulmates.

His defiance against Harry, for whatever reasons he might be choosing to ignore at present, was no reason for him to risk Fizzy and her feelings. She was wise beyond her years, and bright, and all of the wonderful qualities that Harry had listed that afternoon, but she was still young. If Louis allowed Percy Crawford to use youth as an excuse, he couldn’t discount that Fizzy’s youth might play a part in this mess as well.

She was quiet about her feelings, but the last thing Louis wanted was for her to get lost in them, fall deeply for Crawford, and then have him be a scoundrel and a rake. There was always the possibility that she could develop feelings for him that were strong enough to make her consider staying with him even if they weren’t soulmates.

Louis knew deep down within himself that he would honor whatever decision she made because it wasn’t his place to censor her in any way. But she was his sister and he wanted her to be happy. He didn’t think that happiness included being under the thumb of someone who might be trying to take advantage of her.

From across the room, he watched as Fizzy’s brow furrowed over her needlepoint. Ironically, she was working on a new pillow for the wingback chair in his study, she had told him the other day.

It was a shame Louis would never be able to use it because he was never going in that room ever again.

Ever since that day in the park when he met Harry, Louis’ life had become such a mess. He was throwing himself into training the horses even though the next race wasn’t for months, he was avoiding his Liam and Niall, one of his sisters was considering testing out her soulmark for the first time, and Lavinia and Ambrose couldn’t spend five minutes in his company without railing against the only person he had ever been truly, deeply attracted to in his life.

Louis was trying to avoid thinking about Harry to prevent himself from doing something stupid like developing feelings for him, but they were the ones that were truly obsessed with the man.

When Lavinia had told Louis what Harry had done, how he had come on to her and proposed entering into an affair with each other, Louis had only just managed to hold down his breakfast. His jealousy had shot through him, white hot and intense and overwhelming. Eventually, it had calmed down enough, that he could listen to what she was saying, but then he had gotten angry. How dare Harry flirt with Louis, kiss Louis, cause him such turmoil, then chase the very next skirt that floated past.

One of the very first things Gemma had said to him about Harry was how much of a flirt he was. Louis should have heeded the warning for what it was. Even though it hadn’t been a warning at the time.

Taking the coward’s way out, Louis had escaped the country and came back to London.

Every time his anger faded, Lavinia and Ambrose would come for tea, and she would talk about it again. “I don’t know how Gemma can let him stay under her roof with the way he has behaved towards me.”

Louis had asked Lavinia if she had told Gemma about Harry’s behaviour. “Really, Louis. I don’t see how that’s my responsibility when everyone already knows how much of a rake he is.”

When he had pressed her to say something, insisting that Gemma wouldn’t know unless she did, Lavinia had bristled and changed the subject.

After seeing how scandalised Harry had been at the mention of an affair with her, and for the reasons he had given, if Louis hadn’t been suspicious of her story then he was now.

His life was an absolute mess.

He didn’t want to think about Harry, Lavinia, Ambrose, or any of his own problems but he was in such a tangle that he needed to do _something_.

Tackling Fizzy’s problem it was.

 

That afternoon, he called on Liam.

“Louis!” his friend called from the doorway, striding across the room quickly to draw him into a hug and give him a rough, brotherly pat on the back. Louis was immediately swamped with guilt. He didn’t think he had really been that remiss in keeping up with his friends over the last few weeks.

“Liam,” he squeaked out as his ribs were crushed.

“How are you?” Liam asked, smiling wide as he showed Louis to a chair near where one of the servants was laying out their tea. He didn’t even let Louis answer. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

Louis collapsed into the seat dramatically, wind taken out of his sails. “I’m aware,” he groaned.

“That’s perfectly alright, Lou. We know it’s because of Harry.” Liam shrugged as congenial as ever. Certainly not with the attitude of someone who was worried about two of his friends hating each other.

Louis sputtered defensively. “What— How?”

Liam looked at him sardonically as if to say Louis wasn’t as transparent as he was pretending to be. Blushing, Louis changed the subject.

“Do you remember the investigator you hired to look into one of your tenants when you thought he might be dangerous?” Louis asked.

Liam nodded. “Mr. Whitstone.”

“If he’s still in London will you get in contact with him for me?”

Understandably concerned, Liam dropped his teasing attitude and leaned forward. “Of course, Louis, but what’s going on?”

Louis sighed. “Percy Crawford.”

The frown cleared from Liam’s face, and he began chuckling. “Finally decided to listen to Harry, then?”

“No,” Louis insisted. “No. This is based on my own suspicions and desire to protect my sister.”

“Of course.” Liam nodded. Louis knew he didn’t believe him, further evidenced by the fact that Liam couldn’t stop laughing at him. “I admit, Lou, the three of us did see Crawford with someone I know to be suspected by the police on a number of charges.”

Louis cringed, upset with himself for not acting on his own suspicions sooner. “Fine, fine. Please, just talk to him. Money is no object.”

Liam agreed and they changed the subject, catching each other up on the last few weeks of each other’s lives. Louis didn’t bring up Harry again, and neither did Liam for which Louis was grateful. He had no idea what to do with Harry, how to handle the strange, mixed feelings he was having towards the man, but he knew it was something he needed to work through on his own.

 

A few days later, the report on Percy Crawford came back and it was damning, to say the least. Everything Harry didn’t have any proper evidence of was now entirely substantiated.

The man was destitute. He had gambled away what little fortune he had, and he was biding his time until he married well, or his father died, whichever came first. Even if his father died, he would still need to marry well as it seemed his father had lost a considerable amount of money paying off his son’s debts, but couldn’t keep up with them and had stopped trying to in order to preserve the coffers of the estate.

That was where Fizzy came into play. Louis knew Percy Crawford had traveled a fair amount on the continent recently and now that he had seen the state of his finances, he wondered if Crawford wasn’t taking advantage of the divisiveness between France and England to escape his creditors.

Lottie, as the eldest sister, was sure to have a larger dowry per tradition, but even the next eldest would be substantial enough for a man to live on for a considerable amount of time. From the outside looking in, Lottie was the social butterfly, she was the shining star of the emerging debutantes. A tough mark. But her quiet, seemingly shy, bookish younger sister? Crawford must have thought Fizzy was low-hanging fruit in comparison.

Louis was surprised his anger didn’t cause him to combust and ruin all of Liam’s lovely upholstery when he realised what was happening.

That scoundrel.

“Louis,” Liam said with a warning tone. “Don’t do anything rash.”

Louis inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I’m alright, Liam.”

“Very well.” He paused, but Louis could tell there was more. “It gets worse.”

“Worse?” Louis’ eyes bugged out as he braced himself.

“Crawford has already found his soulmate.”

Louis’ heart rate spiked. “What do you mean?”

“There is a rumor that he and his soulmate are already aware of each other, but she doesn’t have any money either. Now, I’m not sure how much she knows, but he’s seen frequently going in and out of her residence,” Liam added carefully.

The wheels in Louis’ head were spinning. “He wants to marry Fizzy for the money, and keep his soulmate as a mistress of some sort?”

“It would seem so,” Liam replied.

“But, that—” Louis couldn’t manage to wrap his brain around the concept. “That’s horrible. How can his soulmate enter into a life like that?”

“I had the same thought when I first read the report and talked to Mr. Whitstone, but consider this: her soulmate is someone that crafted such a scheme in the first place. Or she crafted the scheme and is the puppet master. Who knows?” Liam looked contemplative. “I would never expect this of someone like _your_ soulmate. Fate, thankfully, is not that cruel.”

Louis had to admit that Liam had a point. If Percy Crawford really was the blackguard this dossier made him out to be, was it any wonder that his soulmate was someone equally suited for him?

He was out the door and halfway to his own home, running through the conversation again in his head, when he finally really heard what Liam was saying. “Someone like your soulmate” “Fate is not that cruel.” Louis stopped dead in the middle of the paving stones.

Liam thought he knew who Louis’ soulmate was. Liam who spends hours on end with Harry, who became friends with him very quickly, inviting him into the fold of their lives.

Liam thought Harry was Louis’ soulmate.

It wasn’t possible.

Harry wasn’t looking for his soulmate, he had said so many times when he was too busy railing against the idea of “waiting for biology.”

 _But that didn’t mean he didn’t have one_ , whispered the little voice in the back of Louis’ head.

Panic rose in Louis’ throat as he frantically tried to piece together memories of the months he had known Harry. Flashes of impassioned arguments, teasing, arousal, sometimes all at the same time came flooding back. Everything felt heightened with Harry around, but Louis thought that was a product of Harry being new to their group and a novelty, and that feeling would wear off as he got to know him better.

 _But it hadn’t_. It had only worsened. After the other day in his study, Louis craved Harry’s presence. All he wanted to do was seek him out and feel the warmth of his skin, taste his raspberry bitten lips. Anything. A small part of him wondered if Harry knew. If that was what he meant when he said “not until you’re ready” as they parted that day.

Louis tamped down that feeling and forced himself to keep walking towards his own townhouse.

Percy Crawford. _Crawford_ was the issue he was tackling at the moment.

Harry wasn’t his soulmate. He couldn’t be.

 

The next morning, Louis’ eyes were dry and gritty, and his head felt fuzzy and heavy. He had been quiet at the evening meal, and grumpy and snappish whenever anyone asked him what was wrong. Sleep had not come easily to him as his thoughts hadn’t quieted until the first light of dawn had broken.

His first order of business today was to speak to Fizzy, and for that, they needed true privacy. Which meant using his study again.

Louis passed her a quick note at breakfast so no one else would know if she didn’t want them to, and his secrecy was aided by the arrival of Niall as a distraction.

The clock rang eleven and he snuck upstairs, bracing himself before he opened the door.

The room was exactly as they had left it, utterly innocuous. But Louis knew.

He rounded the back of his desk to right his favorite chair, but when he glanced down he could see a disturbance in the grain of the carpet under the desk. Clenching his eyes shut and counting backward from ten, Louis sat in the chair and pulled it closer.

Wadsworth had seen right through him and after the first day had started bringing Louis’ correspondence to him wherever he was in the house instead of leaving it on his desk like he normally would have. That meant that nothing had piled up, so there was nothing for him to do but sit there, unoccupied, until Fizzy managed to slip away.

Louis only managed to sit there for another twenty seconds before he hopped up and started looking through his bookshelves at all of the books whose placement he had memorised more than a decade earlier when they were his father’s.

Finally, after an age, Fizzy knocked timidly on the door.

“Come in,” he called softly.

When she entered, he was struck once again by how beautiful she was. Poised and graceful, she stood tall and her darker chocolate tresses contrasted with her pale skin. Entirely comfortable with Louis, she dropped any pretense and let herself fall loosely into one of the chairs across from his desk.

He returned to his chair and attempted to focus on the task at hand.

“What ails you?” Fizzy asked him bluntly, giving him a once over and coming out the other side concerned about Louis’ appearance. That wasn’t very comforting.

“It’s about…” he trailed off. “I’m not quite sure…”

“This is about Percy isn’t it?” she asked as her face fell.

Louis nodded. “I’m sorry, Fizzy, I tried to stay out of it, but I was beginning to get concerned.”

His sister smiled at him ruefully. “I know.” She stared down at her lap where she was wringing her hands together. “I’ve suspected that something isn’t right.”

Louis tapped the dossier. “I have a report, as well as an account from the investigator. Would you like me to tell you?” he asked carefully.

She considered both him and the dossier for a moment, and he held his breath waiting for the answer. “Is it bad?” she asked quietly.

Louis nodded.

She shook herself off, straightened her spine, and stuck her nose up in the air putting on a brave face. “Then, no. I want to hear it from him.”

“Would you like to confront him about it?” Louis asked, his heart melting in admiration of her strength.

“Yes,” she said defiantly.

“Very well. This afternoon?” he asked, despite his own discomfort and sleeplessness, he knew enough about his sister to surmise that she would want to get the confrontation over with before giving herself too much time to overthink and become anxious about it.

“I’ll summon him,” he said softly.

She smiled wanly before leaping out of her own chair to come around and climb into his lap, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug the way she used to when she was a child. She was as tall as he was now, but that didn’t stop him from gathering her up to try and send as much comfort her way as he could.

Eventually, she left the room to go inform their mother and Lottie of what was going on, and Louis waited until he was sure she was gone to call Wadsworth into the room again. He scribbled a note, sealed it with his terrible, ostentatious seal that he almost never used, and handed it over to his butler with strict instructions that Mr. Crawford is to come at his earliest convenience.

In reality, Louis could give a flying fig about Crawford’s “convenience” but he was trying to be civil.

An hour later when they were all sat down for the midday meal, word came that he would be there in less than thirty minutes.

Everyone at the table paused, and Fizzy looked up at Louis in a panic. “I don’t think I can do it,” she said hoarsely.

Louis’ thoughts were flying through his head faster than he could manage. “Where’s Sarah?” he asked to the first footman his eyes landed on when he looked up to where they were stationed around the room. Sarah was Fizzy’s abigail; Louis had a plan, but he would need her help.

The footman looked alarmed but exited the room immediately to go find her. When they arrived a moment later, the girl curtsied deeply. When she stood up, she held her hand out for Fizzy to take and they both looked at Louis expectantly.

“Sarah, which room is the best for eavesdropping?” He might have known when he was a boy, but he hadn’t needed that particular skill in almost two decades. Also, the servants might have a better vantage point that he as a young master of the house would not have known about.

His mother and Lottie remained silent behind him as they waited for her answer.

The poor girl’s eyes widened for a moment, but she answered honestly. “The upstairs sitting room.” Louis blanched for a moment but hoped no one else would notice. “The sound doesn’t travel far enough for your lordship’s study. It’s best from the servants' stairs.”

Louis smiled comfortingly and thanked her for her answer before turning to Fizzy. “I’ll speak to Crawford, and you can listen in from the servants' stairs. If you feel comfortable, come in, if you don’t then at least you are informed from his own words.”

Fizzy nodded hastily, and they all dispersed to carry out the plan.

Louis popped a roast potato in his mouth before informing Wadsworth of the change in setting in order to have a tea service ready.

The butler nodded, and Louis and Fizzy went up to the sitting room in question to get themselves into place. Sarah came with them to watch on the servants’ stairs, but Louis was sure that word would spread fast enough throughout the household that no one would try to use them while Fizzy was hiding.

When Crawford was announced, Fizzy quickly bolted off the settee to hide behind the door to the stairs.

Louis stood out of politeness, determined to make sure the conversation they were about to have was completely beyond reproach on his end. Aside from his sister listening nearby.

Wadsworth showed the man in, and Louis immediately felt a wave of revulsion wash over him. There was no way to turn back time and erase how he had ignored his instincts for so long, distracted by Harry as he was.

Crawford was dripping with arrogance as he sauntered into the room. “Lord Tomlinson,” he greeted with a smirk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He sprawled out on one of Louis’s chairs without so much of a by your leave as Louis remained standing. If his intention was to swindle Louis out of a fortune through his sister, it would have done him well to abide by some semblance of decorum.

“Mr. Crawford,” he started, emphasising his lack of title. He would never hold a lower rank against someone, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use his elevated rank to his advantage when it suited his own more nefarious purposes.

“Is Felicité at home?” Crawford asked, ignoring Louis’ icy tone.

“Miss Tomlinson,” again Louis corrected his manners, “is not available at the moment. I wanted to speak to you myself.”

For the first time, the man’s posture shifted. The realisation that Louis’ summon may not have been a good thing was etched across his face. “Very well,” he agreed, his tone much warier.

Louis lifted the dossier from where it was resting on the end table next to him. “Bear in mind that I already know the answers to many of these questions.”

He opened the dossier carefully and pretended to read it as he landed his first blow. “Do you have a considerable amount of debts, Mr. Crawford?”

“No, of course not,” he lied easily.

“Mr. Crawford, I just told you that I already know the answer to my questions. How you answer them will directly determine the result of this conversation,” Louis replied. Really, did the man think he was going to get away with lying to him? Louis was astounded by his arrogance.

“I’m not sure what you have there, but those are vastly exaggerated,” he said.

Louis could easily recognise a man who thought himself to be above the consequences of his actions. “An exaggeration of your debt?”

“Yes, of course. You know how those people can be.” The man was attempting to get Louis to relate to him through charm. If it wasn’t so astoundingly stupid and pathetic, it would be laughable.

“Tell me then, Mr. Crawford, how do you intend to pay down these ‘exaggerations’?”

This he could see had tripped the man up. “I support myself independently, Lord Tomlinson,” he pointed out as though it was the most obvious fact in the world and not a bold faced lie.

“Then the plan to marry my sister has nothing to do with these debts?” Louis watched as the man flinched almost imperceptibly, but his snake oil smile stayed in place.

“I don’t believe I have proposed to your sister, nor have we checked our soulmarks, but if she so desired, I would not be averse to that.”

Louis wanted to shove him out the window, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when he had him right where he wanted. “Interesting that you should bring up soulmarks. You and I both know that yours and my sister’s will not match.”

“You can’t know that,” Crawford replied defensively. He seemed unable to understand that Louis had all of the information he needed. “Who is to say that if our marks don’t match, she won’t still want to marry me anyway.”

“Mr. Crawford, I know that your soulmate lives on the other side of the city, and I know that you visit her frequently. My sister does not want to enter into an arrangement of that sort, so I will now formally request that you sever ties with her and move on.” Louis stood up to make it clear that he was dismissing the man.

Instead of heeding Louis’ warning, Crawford stood up as well and advanced on Louis trying to intimidate him physically.

“That is not your decision, my lord. I will stay away from Felicité if and when she requests it. Not before,” he sneered implying that he was convinced it was the last thing she would ever do.

“I request it now. Right this moment,” Fizzy’s voice rang out clear and strong from behind Louis. When he turned, he could see the ice in her glare and the door to the servants’ stairs open behind her.

“Felicité,” Crawford cried out in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Get out,” was all she said in response. Louis pursed his lips together to try and keep from laughing or cracking a smile.

Crawford’s demeanour turned soft. “You don’t mean that, surely.”

“Out,” Fizzy said her voice low and grumbling.

Crawford didn’t show any signs of moving, so Louis took pity on him. “I would suggest listening to the lady before I call for the magistrate.”

The man’s fiery gaze landed on Louis, and he opened his mouth to argue, but Louis held up the dossier. “Magistrate.”

Crawford turned on his heel and left the room in a huff.

When Louis turned to congratulate Fizzy on a job well done, he could see her hands beginning to shake. He rushed over to take them in his and led her to the settee against the window. She stared blankly and wide-eyed at the floor, and he didn’t know what to do, so he lifted his hand to her back and began rubbing in circles like his mother did when they were sick as children.

Her breathing briefly picked up, but he did his best to talk her through it and help her calm down. The confrontation must have taken more out of her than he thought.

Eventually, he poured her a shot of brandy, and she swallowed it back before their mother and Lottie came in suggesting she retire for the afternoon.

“Would you like to stay in my study and read?” Louis offered. “No one will bother you in there.”

She nodded at Louis, and he led the way, crossing the room to open the connecting door. He set her up in the armchair she used the other day with a blanket and the promise of tea and cakes before exiting the room quietly.

One of the footmen was stationed outside, and Louis requested the tea and cakes first. When the man had disappeared around the corner, Louis collapsed against the doorframe.

Louis had sorted out the Percy Crawford issue, but now he owed Harry an apology. He could play the hero when it came to his sisters but he was having trouble facing his own problems.

Neither he nor Harry had called on each other, but he suspected Harry was waiting for Louis to the first step, and Louis just wasn’t sure he was ready yet, but he also wasn’t sure what he would need to push him over the edge.


	10. Chapter 10

Word traveled fast, so Louis should not have been surprised when Lavinia and Ambrose called on him together the very next day.

Whenever they came over together, they were a flurry of activity and gossip. Fizzy wasn’t taking callers, hiding in Louis’ study again instead and Louis was happy to give her the full run of it.

Lottie called for tea and met them in the downstairs sitting room. She began to question Ambrose and Lavinia right away in an attempt to figure out what sort of information was working its way around town.

“Nothing specific, only that Felicité has thrown him off,” Lavinia said with a hungry glint in her eye.

Neither one of them had actually asked after Fizzy’s well-being yet. This was reconnaissance, Louis realised with a jolt. They weren’t worried about Fizzy at all, they just wanted to know what had happened, wanted all of the inside information before anyone else.

Louis had never thought about society gossip much. If there was anything he wanted to know he asked Lavinia and Ambrose. They almost always knew what was going on in the ton and would keep him and his family informed.

Both of them had been jokingly branded social climbers, and Louis had laughed it off as they did because he thought they had good intentions. But what if it was true? If it was true, then he had been blind to who they really were the whole time he had known them.

On the other hand, maybe they had started out with good intentions when they were all much younger, but then he needed to try and work out if that was still true.

Louis was beginning to feel a headache coming on, building at the very back of his skull.

“Lottie darling,” Ambrose purred, “tell us what happened.”

Lottie shrugged in a very unladylike manner. “I wasn’t in the room, but Louis confronted him while Fizzy listened on, and whatever happened made him leave in quite a state.”

Their guests’ predatory gazes both swung to Louis at the same time. Ambrose leaned in flirtatiously and Louis could taste bile as he remembered what Harry had said. Ambrose thought that he and Louis were as good as married already despite no encouragement that he could recall. They had never even spoken about courtship, or soulmarks, much less marriage.

“What did you say, Lou?” he asked.

Louis gagged at the nickname. He cleared his throat and got up to fiddle with the tea service to have a reason to separate himself from the other man.

“I found out that he had already met his soulmate,” he hedged. Lavinia, Ambrose, and Lottie all gasped at the revelation.

“Why would he lead Felicité on like that then?” Lavinia asked.

“Did he say anything else?” Ambrose prodded.

Lottie watched him with her eyes narrowed and he knew in that moment that she had figured out something was wrong. She stayed quiet, Louis stayed quiet, and the whole room began to bloom into awkwardness when it was clear Louis wasn’t going to divulge anything else.

Lavinia’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s lucky for Felicité, then, escaping that one,” she said brightly.

Ambrose took a sip of his tea, “And lucky for you, Lou.”

Louis had nothing to do with it. “Lucky for me?”

“Now you won’t have to waste money paying down his debts,” Ambrose added casually.

Louis hadn’t mentioned that part. “I’m sorry?” he asked.

Ambrose laughed nervously. “Well… if he had found his soulmate already, clearly he needed Felicité for something.”

“And why did you assume it was for debts already owed?” Louis asked, his rage quiet externally, but growing as a force of its own. Ambrose knew about the creditors already.

“What do you mean?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Louis leaned forward, as a calmness settled over him. “There are a multitude of reasons he could have been after Felicité after he had already found his soulmate; my connections, my land, an eventual title, his soulmate could be destitute, or worse a Catholic. He could just be greedy and want the promise of money for the future. But you immediately assumed it was for debts already owed, which means you already knew about his creditors.”

A tense silence followed his speech. Neither Lavinia nor Lottie took a breath.

“Louis,” Ambrose said placatingly.

“That’s Lord Tomlinson to you,” he said with clipped tones. Ambrose’s face drained of any color.

Lavinia sprung into action. “Louis,” she tried.

“No, stop,” he said forcefully. He was sick and tired of feeling like his life was spinning out of control just because Harry Styles had come in and completely upset the status quo however many months ago. He rounded on Ambrose. “You would have let Fizzy marry that man? Knowing full well what she was getting into?”

“Of course not!” Ambrose cried trying to crawl his way out of the hole he had dug himself. “I would have told you.”

“When? After she had fallen in love with him and they had tested their soulmarks? Even if his soulmark had already been fused before, she may not have been able to recognise that. Then what?” All he could see was red. No friend of his would ever seek to hurt his sister in such a way.

“I never knew about the soulmate, Louis, I swear it.” he had his hands held palm out in front of himself defensively. Louis ignored the second title transgression.

“Just the gambling, then?” Ambrose opened his mouth to reply again, but Louis waved him off. “Either way, it is clear you didn’t have Fizzy’s best interests at heart.”

Louis couldn’t stay in this stifling room a moment longer. He pushed himself up and exited the sitting room. Lottie would know what to do, and there were footmen a step away, but Ambrose would never be violent with her, especially if he thought somewhere in the back of his mind there might be some sort of way of salvaging this mess.

He stopped short of his study, as he suspected Fizzy was still in there, so he turned to the sitting room instead. Draping himself on the settee in front of the window, he closed his eyes and contemplated the mess his life had become. He was doing that a fair amount lately.

There was a soft knock on the door that he expected would be one of his sisters.

“Come in,” he called with a sigh.

“Louis?” Lavinia asked. Louis sat up immediately.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?” she asked casually as she entered the room and perched herself in the chair closest to him. While she hadn’t exposed herself the way Ambrose had, Louis was still unsure of just how blameless she was.

“Just fine, thank you,” he said by rote before he thought better of it. “Actually. I’m not.”

She stared at him with wide eyes and an expression he suspected she thought was comforting. While he was alienating old friends that had been around him his whole life, he may as well weed out all of the issues at once and poke the bruise. Kick himself while he was already down.

“When I spoke to Harry about the conversation you had with him when you said he insulted you with a base proposition to enter into an affair, he said something odd.”

Lavinia reared back. “How could you bring it up with him? Louis, that’s mortifying. Now he’ll know I spoke with you about it. Can you imagine if my husband was to find out?”

“Lavinia,” Louis cut through the dramatics. “I brought it up because we were already having a conversation about friendship and loyalty, and I thought I was defending a friend’s honor.”

“Thought?” She began to blubber. Unfortunately for her, Louis knew her too well. He knew just how good of an actress she was.

“Yes, thought. But then he told me he hadn’t said anything because he was trying to honor your privacy and dignity. He made it sound as though you had propositioned him.” Louis pointed out gently.

“Louis, how can you say such a thing?” She sobbed.

“A week ago I would have believed you, but so far he seems to be the only person with any sense who is also looking out for my best interests,” he said incredulously. He paused and took her hand. “Lavinia, I’m not even accusing you of anything or judging, I just want to know the truth.”

Her tears stopped, miraculously.

“You are in no position to judge me anyway,” she spat out. “You cast me off without another thought after you broke our engagement.”

Louis was shocked. “Lavinia, I told you at the time. We weren’t soulmates. You agreed to remain friends, and we have. I’m not sure what I should have done differently?”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “You and your godforsaken soulmark. What has that got to do with what I wanted? Me? Your betrothed. When was I given a say?”

Once again, Louis was at a loss for words. He had no idea she felt that way. She wasn’t entirely wrong about not having a say, but would she have rather trapped Louis into a marriage he didn’t want to be a part of?

Looking at her now, he realised that was exactly what she had wanted.

Suddenly, more than anything, he was tired and disillusioned. Was everyone around him hiding something for their own gain?

Percy Crawford, Ambrose, Lavinia, where did it end?

 

That evening after the household had calmed down, Louis got word that his good friend Luke was back in town with his wife Bebe. He breathed a sigh of relief even before he was in their company.

Luke and Bebe would be a wonderful respite from everything going mad around him. They were entirely unbothered by society’s rules and influence. All they cared about was being together and being happy, and they weren’t particular about what form that took.

When he called on them the next day in their home, it didn’t take long before they were all gathered in their sitting room doubled over laughing uproariously as they recounted their travels.

Louis was lounging in a chair with some tea and his feet propped up as the sun finally broke through the clouds, illuminating the room with the afternoon light. It felt like he could finally breathe.

“Alright, then, friend. You know how we’ve fared. Catch us up on what’s been going on in town,” Luke asked lazily. They were properly dressed and prepared for callers, but Bebe had kicked off her day slippers and was curled up into his side.

Louis groaned. “What hasn’t been going on in town? That may be a better question.”

He told them the saga of his investigation into Percy Crawford. They gasped and exclaimed at all the right moments, and at a certain point, Louis thought Bebe was going to leap off the settee and ride to Fizzy’s defense.

“How is she?” Bebe asked when he had finished that portion of the story.

Louis grinned at her. “She’s well. She’s kept to herself the past few days. I don’t think she’s hiding away because she’s afraid of what people will say, though. I think she’s just taking some time. Thinking.”

Luke hummed in acknowledgment. Bebe pursed her lips together, darting a glance back and forth between the two of them. “Well, I would have skewered him with a sword.”

Louis laughed, and Luke almost spit out his tea. “And that, darling, is why I lock the cabinet with the family weaponry,” he said as he popped a kiss on the crown of her head. She did not look satisfied.

This was what he wanted. A relationship full of love, and humor, and exasperated fondness. His smile fell a bit as the first thought that popped into his head was of Harry.

“Louis?” Bebe asked, clearly concerned by his rapid shift in mood.

He shook his head and pasted on a wan smile. “Nothing.”

“Nonsense,” she said reaching for a ginger biscuit.

Louis tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, unsure how to broach an awkward subject. Luke grew up with them as well, and Louis didn’t want to be a gossip. Especially after the events of the last few days. “It’s about Ambrose… and Lavinia.”

“What’s happened?” Luke asked as Bebe’s mouth was still occupied by the biscuit.

“I should say, as I want you to be aware, I’ve come to discover things about their characters,” he was hedging around the point and he knew it. “I don’t want to sway or alter your opinion of them too greatly.”

Luke waited for him to continue.

Louis sighed. “I found out that Ambrose had known about Crawford’s debts all along, and most likely wouldn’t have said anything if I hadn’t uncovered them first.” Louis’ fists clenched as he recalled the pure betrayal he had felt in that moment.

“Oh, Louis,” Bebe said sympathetically, but he waved a hand dismissively.

“He also seemed to be under the impression that we had some sort of agreement and I was going to ask him to marry me,” he added.

Bebe scrunched her nose up and she and Luke turned their faces towards each other, sharing a weighted look between themselves. “Did you not have an agreement?” she asked tentatively.

Louis was vehement in his response. “No, of course not.”

“Whyever not?” Bebe pressed, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.

Louis narrowed his eyes at her. “Because I’ve known him since we were in dresses, and I can’t imagine that he’s my soulmate.”

Luke smirked at him, which only increased Louis’ suspicions.

“How will you know if you haven’t checked?” She wasn’t bothering to hide that she was fishing for Louis to say something specific. He would not be so easily trapped, even if he didn’t know what the trap was.

“You’re right, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But the fact remains, he would have let Fizzy enter into an unsavory match when he could have done something about it. Even if I had possibly considered that he was my soulmate, even for a moment, that would be long since over by now.”

Bebe glared at him, and he knew he had successfully obfuscated her interrogation. It was his turn to smirk at her.

Luke interrupted their little exchange. “You mentioned Lavinia as well?”

“Oh, yes. That was confusing as well. Much more so than Ambrose, I suppose.”

“Confusing?” Luke asked.

“When we ended our engagement, I thought it was on good terms. We weren’t soulmates, that was a fact. But she was harboring a lot of resentment towards me that I didn’t know about…” He trailed off as he replayed the alarming conversation in his head. He regretted that he had been so blind to her feelings, but she had continued on as though nothing was the matter.

“And?” Bebe asked softly.

Louis shook his head to bring himself back to the present. “Sorry. At the Lethbridges’ estate, she claimed that Harry Styles had propositioned her. Suggesting that they begin what for her would be an extramarital affair.”

Bebe’s eyes had brightened at the mention of Harry but had quickly grown cloudy again. “I don’t believe it. Harry would never do such a thing,” she insisted.

“I had more immediate business to attend to in town, so as you know, I left early. Then I had the Royal Ascot, and was quite occupied by other things.” He cleared his throat against the little white lie. “Harry called on me and we had a slight disagreement, you could say. During that disagreement, there was a… misunderstanding and he brought up the incident saying he had never told a soul in order to preserve her ‘privacy and dignity.’”

“Then, he did proposition her?” If looks could kill, Bebe surely would have flattened Louis by now.

Louis shook his head. “When she and I were discussing the situation with Ambrose, I confronted her about it. She never gave me a straight answer, but I believe she was the one who propositioned him. What I can’t figure out is why?”

Bebe and Luke shared a look again.

“The fastest way to understanding what she wanted could be a simple as looking at what happened,” Bebe pointed out.

“What are you on about?” Louis asked.

Bebe tilted her head and regarded him with fondness. “What was the direct result of her tattling on Harry?”

Louis had been upset and started avoiding Harry. He blushed and shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose, I may have—”

“Believed the worst and started giving Harry the cold shoulder?” she supplied with a snicker.

“That is a distinct possibility.”

Bebe reached over and patted him on the arm. “It’s no fault of yours. That’s what she was hoping would happen, if you ask me.”

Bebe sounded as though she solved the mystery and wrapped it up in a neat little bow for him, but Louis was still confused. “But why should she concern herself with Harry and I? What difference at all did it make to her?”

“You’re a special person, Louis,” she said wistfully.

Louis’ brow furrowed. “Thank you?”

She shook her head. “Simply put, Lavinia had you. Until one day she didn’t, at least in her eyes,” she rushed out when she saw him open his mouth to protest. “Her solution, however misguided, was to eliminate the threat.”

“The threat being Harry?”

“Exactly.”

Luke nodded along as well.

This conversation was veering a little too close to the conclusion Louis had been trying not to think about.

“Harry isn’t a threat,” he said weakly. He didn’t specify, but they understood what he meant. They didn’t believe him any more than he believed himself.

Blissfully, they let him off easy by allowing for a change in subject, and if he was more reserved for the rest of the evening, they didn’t tease him about it.

When it came time, he sent word home that he would be staying for the evening meal and not to expect him. Hiding away from the world with Luke and Bebe was a little too easy when there were card games to play, and good port to drink.

They had abandoned their games and had shifted to the hearth. Louis was comfortable, happy, and warm near the fire. He had let his guard down and it was safe for Bebe to strike.

“Something happened with Harry, didn’t it?” she murmured.

Louis immediately looked to Luke for help, but he was sleeping soundly, port wine glass hanging out of his hand precariously. “Something,” he replied ruefully, matching her in tone and volume.

“What was the disagreement you mentioned?” She twirled her glass around and Louis watched the ruby liquid shift.

Louis took a sip of his own wine. “He wouldn’t stop warning me about Crawford.”

Bebe snorted into the rim of her glass. “And what did you say?”

“I told him off, so he decided to leave,” he admitted.

“And did he leave?” They shared a look and he couldn’t be sure the conclusions she had drawn, but she didn’t press him for any more details. Any conclusions she came to were probably more than correct anyway. “It’s none of my business.” Louis scoffed. “But have you spoken since then?”

He shook his head. “I think… I think he may be waiting for me?”

“Waiting for what?”

Louis watched as the fire danced and one of the embers flew up into the chimney before it turned to ash. “I’m not sure.”

 

The next day Louis was trailing behind Lottie, Fizzy, and his mother absentmindedly as they browsed a selection of flowers. His housekeeper made fresh arrangements all the time, and his mother loved them so much that she wanted to learn the skill. The housekeeper advised that madam and the young ladies should pick out a variety of flowers and leaves in different colors that please them, so they had set out immediately.

Fizzy was feeling much better, and this outing was short and painless. Her spirits seemed to be anything but dampened, which made Louis happy.

Louis should have been much more prepared for it than he actually was. He was standing outside the flower stall, idly smelling the blooms when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. When he looked up, Harry was across the way, coming out of Hatchards, the bookshop. Seeing him for the first time in a week, seeing him for the first time since their encounter in his study, sent Louis reeling.

Harry had not yet seen Louis, so he took the time to really watch him. His limbs were long and gangly, but decidedly less than graceful as he strode down the street pausing every now and then to eye something in the window. He was breathtakingly beautiful and the cravings Louis had so determinedly ignored returned in full force. Never in his life before had he felt possessive or violent. Violent wasn’t the right word, he supposed. Urgent. He desperately wanted to drag Harry down the closest dark alley, push him up against the wall, and kiss him until he was dazed and flushed the way he had been that day the week prior.

Louis’ mouth went dry. He hadn’t realised his jaw had gone slack as he watched Harry, but when he disappeared from view, Louis turned his gaze back to the flower stand and swallowed heavily. He needed a stiff drink.

His companions came back to him, their arms laden with blooms in every color of the rainbow.

Louis paid the vendor and happily tried to take as many of the bundles as he could before giving in to the footman, David, who was watching in pain, probably mortified that his employer was acting like any old ninny trying to carry his own parcels. He gave up and passed the rest over, grumbling at the look of relief on the man’s face.

He held his arm out for his mother to take instead, trying to be at least a little bit useful. She wrapped her hand around his elbow before patting his arm and winking at him.

The day was so beautiful, a rare sight in London, so the streets were crowded. Again, he should have been prepared.

“Isn’t that the young man who called on you the other day, Louis?” His mother asked, squinting down the block, causing Louis’ heart to stop beating. She must have had superb vision - which explained quite a few instances from his childhood - because Louis couldn’t see Harry anywhere.

“Who?” he asked, still searching the street in front of them.

“Harry!” Lottie called out as she waved.

Oh, no.

“Hello, Mademoiselle Tomlinson,” Harry’s low voice rumbled as he bowed formally in front of Lottie, pressing a kiss to her hand. She giggled as he stood up.

“Hi, Harry,” Fizzy called quietly over Lottie’s shoulder, and Harry repeated his greeting.

“I think I’m a little past my prime to be called ‘Mademoiselle Tomlinson’ young man,” his mother cut in before Harry could say anything.

He smiled warmly at her. “Nonsense! Though I will say, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

His gaze finally lifted to make eye contact with Louis. The feeling earlier, when he had been aware of Harry’s presence, increased tenfold as they stood there staring at each other.

Until Lottie elbowed him in the ribs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis wheezed. “Mr. Styles, this is my mother. The Dowager Viscountess Loring, Lady Tomlinson.”

His mother raised an eyebrow at him; he hardly ever introduced her with her whole title, and he knew she hated it.

“Mother, this is Harry Styles,” he finished.

She grinned at Harry. “Mr. Styles, it’s lovely to meet you, finally. I have heard a bit about you already, though.”

Louis watched on as Harry blanched for a moment before he recovered. “Have you?” he barely managed to ask.

“Fizzy was telling me about your travels just the other day as she’s trying to wheedle a trip to the continent herself. How fascinating your tales must be when they are told firsthand.”

Harry blushed at the compliment. “I’m never one to shy away from discussing the places I’ve visited. Truth be told, I’m afraid I have a tendency to go on a bit of a ramble when I get started.”

“That’s lovely,” she said before turning to the footman. “The girls and I must be going as we’re to learn how to make a proper bouquet today.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “What beautiful flowers,” he gasped, floating instinctively towards the heavy parcels the same way Louis had. “The roses are especially beautiful. I wish you luck. I would love to see your creations when you’re finished with them.”

His mother clapped her gloved hands together. “What an idea! You must come dine with us.”

His mother had taken to Harry with an efficiency that Louis would have admired had he fully comprehended what she said.

“What?” he felt himself asking. Harry would be no help, his mouth was gaping open.

“Louis, don’t be rude. Harry, the bouquets should stay fresh for a few days. What do you say to tomorrow?”

“Uh—” Harry looked desperately at Louis, who was equally stunned and therefore could provide him no assistance. “Of course, I would be honored.”

“That settles it then,” his mother said as though she hadn’t just ripped the world out from underneath Louis’ feet. “Girls, let’s go. Harry, darling, we’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“Right,” Harry replied weakly.

They traversed another block whilst Louis was in a panic-induced daze.

“You’re welcome for that, by the way,” his mother said.

“Mother!” Louis sputtered as Lottie and Fizzy doubled over laughing. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I don’t know what’s been going on in my absence, but I’m going to find out Louis Tomlinson,” she threatened.

Louis gulped, forcing back the feeling that he was ten years old again.

He needed to figure out how to lessen the awkwardness that was sure to befall the evening meal.

 

Niall was the solution. Really, Gemma would be better, but she wasn’t feeling well lately with her morning sickness, so Louis sent for Niall.

He almost cried in relief when Wadsworth announced that both of them had arrived later that afternoon.

Louis ordered for tea to be sent to the upstairs sitting room, and he distracted himself by fussing over Gemma, asking what sort of food she thought she might be able to stomach. When she said plain butter biscuits, he had Wadsworth inform the cook immediately.

“Thank you, Louis,” Gemma said as he led her to the most comfortable chair in the room. “But what is so urgent that you needed to speak with us immediately?”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he sighed. He had too much restless energy, so he stood up and began to pace.

“Louis, you’re scaring us a bit,” Niall said with a nervous laugh.

Right. He needed to come out with it. Only, he hadn’t ever said the words out loud, and he was worried about breaking Harry’s trust in some way. Granted, Harry could have told them as well.

“Gemma, you’re aware of Harry?” he asked.

“My brother?” she asked sardonically. “Yes, a bit.”

“Of course,” he said. “Yes.”

“Louis is this about what happened last week?” Niall asked.

Louis paused. “He told you about that?” Suddenly very upset that Harry might have divulged the nature of their liaison that day.

“I knew he was coming to call, and then when returned he was in quite the state. It wasn’t difficult to surmise that something out of the ordinary happened.”

He could feel the blush creeping over his cheeks.

“Louis, did you compromise my brother?” Gemma asked, teasingly. Louis dropped down onto a chair and covered his face with his hands. Gemma gasped and choked on her tea. “You did!”

Louis was at a loss for words.

“I think he might be my soulmate,” he groaned.

Niall’s eyebrows shot towards his forehead and he and Gemma shared a look. The more married couples around him did this, the less endearing Louis found it to be.

“Oh, we know he’s your soulmate. We just didn’t know that _you_ knew.” Niall pointed out.

Louis sputtered. “You can’t possibly know that, Niall.”

“Well, no,” he conceded, “but the signs are there.”

He rolled his next question over in his mind. “All he’s ever said to me was that he wasn’t ever going to wait for his soulmate. He didn’t see the point of it.”

Gemma sighed. “Yes, I know. That’s a bit of a long story, but I suppose it’s relevant now.”

Louis sat up fully and waited, expectantly. He assumed Niall knew this story as well, but he too leaned forward intently.

“When our mother married our father it was out of love and dedication, but it was also out of necessity. She wanted to escape out from under the thumb of her father, and our father offered her a way to do so. She didn’t have the luxury of waiting for her soulmate, and it felt like the right thing to do at the time, so she married him. He made his own way in the world, started to make enough money by trade, and then he passed away.

“There was more money than we ever imagined when his estate was settled. We lived somewhat modestly, mostly out of habit, I suppose. Then all of a sudden there we were, totally financially set. Harry took a place in the business, he doesn’t manage it at all, just helps from time to time, and our mother settled in for life as a widow. Not long after that, she met our step-father, Robin.”

“Her soulmate?” Louis asked.

Gemma looked up at him with a fond smile. “Yes, her soulmate. But as you know, not every family is like yours.” She winked at Louis. “He was titled and she was not, so she found herself on the receiving end of all the gossip-mongers. They said so many horrible things, but the gist of it was that she had seduced him, tricked him into marrying her so she could elevate herself and us.”

Louis was horrified for Lady Twist. They hadn’t been officially introduced in Sussex, but he wished to meet her one day.

He looked down at where Niall had grasped her hand and intertwined their fingers, and then another piece of the puzzle fell into place. “Have people said that about you as well?” he asked, suddenly newly concerned for his friend’s well-being in a way he had never considered before.

“Much less than my mother, I promise,” she assured him.

“But it still happens?” Louis grew sick with dread. He could see where her story would lead.

“That’s why Harry resents soulmarks, I think. I’ve never known for sure but based on everything he’s said to me, I can only assume,” she concluded.

Louis was astonished. “He doesn’t like them because finding your soulmates has put you in such an awkward position with the rest of society?”

Gemma nodded carefully.

Then they were at an impasse, Louis realised. There wasn’t anything he could do to change that perception because it was all true. And it wasn’t anything that would change if he and Harry were soulmates. Harry was a firstborn son, but still untitled. Louis was still above him. People would still draw the same conclusions.

He must have looked as defeated as he felt because Gemma tutted under her breath. “Louis, I know that seems sort of bleak. But I don’t want you to give up on him.”

“I appreciate that Gemma, but I can’t force him into anything either. How would we ever check our soulmarks? I’m not going to accost him,” Louis exclaimed.

She still looked concerned. “If there’s one other thing I can say, it’s that Harry wants courtship, love, the whole lot. He’s not against marriage, per se, and I think he wants it with you.”

“And you seem to want it with him,” Niall chimed in, finally.

“Against your better judgment, I’m sure,” Gemma mumbled.

Louis let out a startled laugh and they followed. He let his laughter taper out. “Thank you, Gemma.”

“Anytime, brother,” she winked again before standing up and brushing a piece of invisible lint off her skirt. “I hear tell that Harry is dining here tomorrow night,” she added.

“Yes, my mother invited him.”

Gemma leaned in and gave him a kiss to the cheek. “Talk to him, please. For all our sakes.” With those parting words, she and Niall disappeared into the rapidly graying London afternoon. It was a vast difference from his and Harry’s sunny encounter on the street earlier.

As Louis contemplated Harry’s visit for the following evening, he came to a conclusion: they needed to figure their way out of this odd dance around each other that they had stumbled into. The only way to do that was to check their soulmarks once and for all.

Somehow, he needed to be charming enough that Harry would agree to it. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the spot on his forearm just under his elbow where an intricate dagger pointed towards the wrist on his left arm.

He could only hope that this time when he let someone see him at his most vulnerable, he wasn’t disappointed again.


	11. Chapter 11

Louis spent all day fretting about dinner that evening. Harry already knew his family, he already knew Louis, there was no reason for Louis to be nervous.

Except that Louis was more convinced every day that Harry was his soulmate, and he knew what it felt like to be inside Harry’s mouth, and more and more he found that he wanted everything with him.

It had been a strenuous twenty-four hours.

The time came for Harry to arrive, and Louis was vibrating with nervous energy. He had tidied up his study, intending for them to take their port there at the end of the meal. Alone. While it was odd returning to the scene of the crime so to speak, Louis was also hoping the sensual energy would transfer to this evening as well.

He needed to be charming, flirtatious, and convincing. Somehow, he needed to coax Harry to _want_ to check their soulmarks against one another’s.

There was a knock at the door downstairs, and Louis almost vaulted into the hallway but stopped short to collect himself.

Wadsworth let Harry in, and Harry greeted him like an old friend. Louis thought he saw the butler crack the barest hint of a smile. He was probably mistaken.

As Louis was looking on from the grand staircase, Harry turned and looked up at him from below, a slow, lopsided smirk spreading across his face. Louis wasn’t sure if his mood for the evening was obvious, or Harry was simply sick of trying to pretend they weren’t attracted to each other.

_Don’t, please. Not until you’re ready._

Harry’s parting words that day played on a loop through Louis’ head. Louis hoped Harry was ready for what he was about to experience. _Louis_ certainly was.

“Harry,” he purred, low and soft. “You’re here.” He gracefully descended the last few stairs until he was on one step above Harry, putting him at Harry’s eye level if not slightly above. If Harry had been closer to the steps, they would have been standing chest to chest.

Harry looked stunned for a moment at his demeanour. “Yes, I am. I’m looking forward to the meal and catching up with your sisters,” he said politely. Such a good boy.

Louis stepped down onto even ground before he darted his tongue out to wet his lips and flicked his eyes up to gaze at Harry from underneath his eyelashes. “Lovely,” was all he said with a weighted tone.

Instead of waiting to see Harry’s reaction, he turned around and headed towards the main sitting room where his family was waiting to be called into dinner.

Never let it be said that Louis Tomlinson didn’t know how to tease with the best of them.

He vaguely heard Harry clear his throat behind him before the click of his boots on the floor gave away that he was following Louis into the sitting room.

His mother and sisters looked up as they entered.

“Good evening, Harry,” his mother called out, and Lottie and Fizzy followed suit. Harry had come up so close behind Louis that he could feel their body heat beginning to mingle in the sliver of space between them, and Harry’s breath was warm where it ghosted across the top of Louis’ collar.

“Good evening,” Harry rasped out before clearing his throat.

“Oh, darling, are you coming down with something?” his mother asked before moving to get up. Louis pursed his lips together to keep from laughing.

Harry rushed to reassure her. “No! No, apologies. Just something caught in my throat, that’s all.”

“Very well.” She eyed him sceptically.

They were called into dinner before he needed to endure any more questions.

His mother and sisters took off for the dining room without even bothering to wait for an escort. Louis took the opportunity and paused to offer his left elbow to Harry with a smirk, but it wasn’t until Harry took him up on his offer that Louis realised Harry was placing his hand right above his soulmark.

Louis could feel it through the fabric of his shirtsleeves and coat, was the thing. He felt the warmth of Harry’s hand more than he normally would, and it felt like the skin underneath was overly sensitive.

As the head of the household, Louis was seated at the head of the table, and as the singular guest for the evening, Harry was seated right next to him and Louis’ mother was seated on his other side. Fizzy and Lottie were next to each of them respectively. Louis tried not to get distracted by the image of this becoming his routine for every evening meal henceforth, he was fairly certain how this night would end, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Louis carved and served the pheasant as Harry and his family talked animatedly around him about the musical performance they had all gone to a few days prior. Louis hadn’t even realised Harry had been there with them, he had been so focused on not thinking about him.

His mother interrogated Harry subtly, but consistently throughout the meal. He caught on eventually and started looking to Louis for assistance. For Louis’ part, he was happy to sit back and admire Harry, toss him a few flirtatious compliments, and generally soften him up for the conversation they were going to have after dinner.

He felt himself withdraw as the night ambled on and he became more and more nervous about how Harry was going to react to his proposition. Harry had strongly implied that they were soulmates, everyone else thought they were soulmates, Louis could have sworn his own soulmark reacted to Harry earlier in the evening, but biology never took into account pure human stubbornness. Harry had been harboring a resentment towards soulmarks for a long time, Louis could only hope that he was enough to change his mind about them.

When they had finally finished their meal, and they were all pleasantly stuffed, their conversation had slowed to a satisfied drawl. Louis turned to his mother and tried to convey the message that she and the girls should retire for the evening. Preferably anywhere that wasn’t near his study or his rooms.

“Ladies,” she said as she stood up. “Time for us to take our leave.” Thankfully, Lottie and Fizzy didn’t argue or outwardly suspect that anything was amiss.

Harry blinked at Louis slowly in the waning light of the room. Earlier, in preparation, Louis had asked for a fire to be lit in his study in the hopes that Harry would join him.

“Would you like a glass of port?” Louis asked, quietly. “Upstairs?”

It was just the two of them left in the dining room, and there was no need to censor himself, but the moment felt delicate. Harry’s answer would determine the rest of Louis’ evening, if not his life.

“Yes,” he rasped, jolting Louis out of his own thoughts.

“Ver-very well,” Louis stammered. His heart was pounding and he rubbed his palms against his breeches as he led the way out of the dining room.

They climbed the stairs slowly, and Louis felt Harry hesitate behind him as he passed the open door to the sitting room and went to his study instead. It occurred to Louis, belatedly, that Harry had never entered his study properly from the hallway.

If Louis hadn’t been hyper-aware of what was going on, he would have missed Harry’s tiny whimper and subsequent cough to try and cover it up. There was comfort in knowing Louis was not alone in his heightened response to this room and what they had done in there before.

He pushed open the door and allowed Harry to pass, before shutting the door behind them. He watched as Harry’s eyes shifted to the handle of the closed door as he swallowed deeply.

“I just wanted to gives us a bit of privacy, if that’s alright?” Louis was grateful that the steadiness of his own voice didn’t betray his nerves.

“Alright.” Harry nodded.

Louis wasn’t sure what else to say. He was hovering by the door in fear of seeming too aggressive in his attempts to woo Harry if he could call it that.

As a result, they were standing five feet away from each other, staring, letting the awkward silence hang in the air and take on a life of its own.

“Harry, I—”

“Dinner—”

They both started speaking at the same time. Louis indicated Harry should start.

He bit his lip before sitting on one of the chairs and turning to look at the fire. Louis wasn’t certain, but he thought he might have seen Harry’s gaze shift to where the desk stood by the window. “Dinner was wonderful. Your family is quite lovely,” he said.

Louis grinned. “Thank you.”

“What- Er. What were you going to say?” Harry asked Louis encouragingly.

This was it. He finally managed to force his feet to move and he crossed the room to take the chair opposite Harry.

Louis took a deep breath. “Harry, I know we had an odd start to our acquaintance. Friendship. But, I feel drawn to you. That much should be obvious.”

Harry let out a slightly hysterical giggle at that before biting his lip again to stop it. Louis wanted to reach up and rub his thumb across the soft pink skin, release it from it’s confines, and cover Harry’s lips with his own.

But he needed to rein himself in and move slowly. He took another deep breath to fortify himself for the rest of the conversation.

“I feel the same way,” Harry whispered. “That much should be obvious.”

Louis looked up to meet Harry’s gaze. In all the times he rehearsed what he was going to say, Louis never planned for Harry’s reply. Harry was looking at him with a cheeky grin, and Louis felt some of his tension melt away as his heart soared. He just needed to get his declaration over with, once and for all.

“I think we might be soulmates,” he rushed out.

Harry looked down at where his hands were resting on his knees and remained quiet. He took a shaky breath in before getting up out of his chair.

For a terrifying heartbeat, Louis thought he was going to walk out. Walk away from him forever.

Instead, Harry approached Louis’ chair and stood so close that Louis had to crane his neck to see his face. If he hadn’t he would have missed the way Harry’s lips moved as he said, “Come here, please,” and held out his hand.

Louis took it without thinking and let himself be lifted out of the seat until they were standing chest to chest with just enough room between them for Harry to take both Louis’ hands in his.

The fire crackled in the hearth as Harry rubbed the pad of his thumb over Louis’ knuckles. He had scarcely taken a breath since his own confession.

“I know I’ve said a lot of things in the past. And my views have not changed on letting one’s life be dictated by their soulmark.” Louis could feel the tear in his heart begin to pull apart even further. “But I never expected to find mine.”

Harry lifted Louis’ hand to his lips and placed a kiss on the knuckles he had previously been caressing. Warmth bled through his body, but he couldn’t let himself get carried away.

“We don’t know for sure,” he whispered.

“Should we check?” Harry murmured in response.

Louis nodded and for a moment, they both froze, unsure of what to do.

“Where?” he asked.

The corner of Harry’s mouth lifted. “My arm,” he said. “You’ve brushed it before.”

“You did the same to me downstairs,” Louis replied. He decided to take the reins, too excited to wait a second longer. He tightened his grip on Harry’s hand and tugged his grip until they were moving closer to the fire. They would need to take off some of their clothing, and Louis wanted to be sure Harry didn’t catch cold.

For all his forwardness a moment ago, Harry seemed to have stalled a bit. Louis lifted his hands up until he was cupping one of Harry’s lapels in each hand. “Is this alright?”

Harry nodded. The jacket wasn’t cut as tight as it could have been, so Louis could push the fabric off of his broad shoulders easily. His shirt sleeves were blousy and almost sheer in the dim light, and his waistcoat accentuated the natural dip in his torso, but what Louis went for first was his cravat. He found the end of the tie in the linen kerchief and pulled softly enough that he wouldn’t choke Harry, but hard enough that it came off all in one go.

Next, he unbuttoned Harry’s collar points. With nothing to support them now, they began to droop towards his shoulders, bringing the edges of his shirt with them. Supple tanned skin was peeking out from behind the linen, the same way it had the very first day Louis met Harry on that foggy morning in Hyde Park.

Unable to help himself, Louis dragged the tip of his finger from Harry’s jawline, down his throat, until it hit the center of his waistcoat.

“Your turn,” Harry croaked out, repeating the same steps on Louis. When Louis was divested of his jacket and cravat, Harry let the first two fingers of his right hand caress the stubble on Louis’ beard and follow the path that Louis had forged on his own skin until he was just barely touching the top of his chest. “You’re hairy,” he whispered as his adorable lopsided grin came back.

Louis blushed under the scrutiny and reached for the buttons at Harry’s wrist as a distraction.

Harry held his left hand out dutifully, but once Louis had gotten the fussy little buttons undone and lifted up his own left hand, he paused.

Only one other person outside of his family had seen his soulmark with the intention of trying to make a match before. When he and Lavinia were younger they tested them and on his end at least, it was to prove once and for all that they weren’t soulmates.

Revealing his mark to Lavinia hadn’t felt anywhere near as nerve-wracking as this did.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked after undoing Louis’ cuffs.

They both reached for their own cuffs and began to roll back their sleeves. Both of their marks were on their left arms, which had to be some kind of sign, surely.

Louis was so distracted watching Harry’s arm waiting for his mark to appear that he did a terrible job of rolling up his own sleeve. Finally, the delicate grey lines of Harry’s came into view and the pieces of Louis’ heart began to pull apart all over again.

He must have made some sort of noise because Harry lifted his gaze sharply. “What’s wrong?”

There was no easy way for Louis to explain the emotions he was feeling. “Your soulmark is floral,” he said as he felt tears spring to his eyes.

“Yes, it’s a rose.”

Louis sniffed, trying to keep himself together. “The last time I did this, Lavinia’s mark was floral too.”

Harry grimaced. “Louis, why would I care about her mark?”

“We weren’t soulmates,” he replied, voice breaking halfway through.

Harry paused to consider what he wanted to say before he nudged Louis’ arm. “Let me see yours, please,” he said.

With a shaky breath, Louis reached down to continue rolling his sleeve until the entirety of his dagger had appeared, his heart shattering with every tug.

“See?” he rasped. But when he looked at Harry, his lips were closed, but his grin was so wide he could barely contain it, and his dimple had deepened to the point where Louis thought he could easy nest in there and no one would be the wiser.

“Have you ever done much sailing, Lou?” Harry asked as he took a small step closer. Something possessive and satisfied flashed through him at Harry’s first use of his nickname.

“No?” What an odd thing to bring up at a time like this.

The firelight shone through the sleeve of Harry’s still clothed forearm as he began to inch the tips of his fingers from Louis’ wrist closer and closer to his soulmark.

Unable to help himself, Louis began to do the same to Harry. Their hands drifted closer and closer to each other’s marks until it was Harry who finally took the plunge and brushed the pads of his fingers over Louis’ dagger.

One solid shock of pain ripped through Louis as he moved his hand to cover Harry’s rose completely. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught and buried his face into Harry’s neck as the initial stab ebbed until it was a dull ache of pleasure-pain that Louis couldn’t pinpoint or define if he tried.

Harry whimpered into the crown of Louis’ head where he had turned for comfort in his mirrored pain.

“Harry,” Louis groaned from deep in the back of his throat. His skin was overly sensitive and his blood was throbbing in the veins concentrated under his soulmark that Harry was still clutching. He unclenched his own hand from where he was still gripping Harry’s much more harshly than he had realised.

Something inside Louis felt untethered, longing, and he was craving whatever it was. He forced himself to pull his face out of the crook of Harry’s neck, and when he did, there were tear tracks on Harry’s collarbone. He hadn’t remembered tears, but he reached up and wiped them away with the pad of his thumb before hooking his hand around the back of Harry’s neck, letting it rest there.

Harry’s eyes shot open and he looked down at Louis mark, and then at his own before letting out a small gasp. That thought hadn’t even occurred to Louis yet.

There, embedded in the skin on his arm, was his dagger to be sure, but it was now piercing the light, delicate outline of Harry’s rose. In a way, it felt to Louis as though his rose had grown around the already existing dagger. They looked beautiful.

He extended the thumb of his hand that was already buried in Harry’s hair to nudge his jaw a bit. When Harry finally complied and looked up at him, Louis could see what it was he had been missing. Harry.

Louis leaned in closer and captured Harry’s mouth with his, quenching his thirst after at least a week without kissing him. He knew, now, that he could never go that long again.

The kiss turned heated quickly, and all too soon they were beginning to lose their balance as they drowned in each other. They were panting as they pulled apart to catch their breath.

“Come with me,” Louis murmured, reaching for Harry’s hand. He didn’t have the decency of mind to look out for where he was going or who might be lurking in the hallways as he dragged Harry out to the stairs. His bedroom was just one more level up, and they could definitely make it.

Or they would have if Harry hadn’t backed him up against the wall of the stair landing and kissed him again, their bodies hidden in the lengthening shadows.

A door opened somewhere on the floor below them, so they turned around and rushed up the second flight of stairs. Louis led Harry down the short hallway to his master bedroom and pushed him inside. Someone had the presence of mind—most likely Wadsworth—to have his fire lit and ready for him to retire, so the room was comfortably dim and toasty warm.

He locked the door behind him before turning around and leaning his weight against the door and staring at Harry for a moment as he caught his breath again.

Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, but the ache in his muscles had receded and was now concentrated specifically underneath his soulmark.

_Harry was his soulmate._

Louis couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as they stood there watching each other, but at the same time something dark crept up his chest and took hold. He looked down at the floor for a moment as his fingers played with the woodgrain of the door behind him.

“Are you disappointed?” he asked, his voice coming out smaller and more vulnerable than he would have liked.

Harry blinked at him for a moment. “Disappointed?”

Louis nodded, unable to form the words.

Harry never asked for this, for a soulmate. After hearing their mother’s story, Louis understood now that it was the resentment and treatment from society that soulmates usually received that Harry had been so adamantly against. But now that they had found each other, and Louis was of nobler birth, they were surely going to experience the same whispers and stares, and he was afraid of Harry resenting him for that.

Harry stepped closer, curling his spine a bit, lowering himself down to make himself smaller and close the distance between them again. He didn’t quite kiss Louis, choosing instead to press their foreheads together.

“You’re smart, loyal—”

“‘To a fault,’ you said,” Louis protested.

“Loyal,” Harry started again with a warning tone. “The most dependable person I’ve ever met, a champion of your sisters especially, but also your friends, stubborn, and so, so beautiful. Never in a million years could I have imagined a soulmate like you.”

He couldn’t explain the fierce need he had to be sure this was what Harry wanted. “But—”

Harry gave in and kissed him then; Louis suspected it was the most effective way to quiet him.

He knew himself, and he was sure this worry he harboured about Harry’s lack of desire to find his soulmate wouldn’t go away overnight, but for now, he wanted to forget about all of his fretting to just be with Harry.

The rest of the world fell away as he pushed himself off the door and led Harry backward towards the large bed in the middle of the room. With shaky hands, he reached for the buttons of Harry’s waistcoat first. The extra fabric where their sleeves had been loosened got in the way a bit as they worked to undress each other.

Louis pushed Harry’s waistcoat until it got caught on Harry’s beautifully broad shoulders. He made a small noise in the back of his throat in protest, and he could feel Harry grin in response.

Hindered in his progress, Louis reached instead for the linen that was tucked into the front of Harry’s breeches, desperate to get his hands on him. He tugged and tugged all around Harry’s waist until it was finally free, whilst Harry wiggled his arms a bit until his waistcoat was free and he let it drop to the floor.

He pulled his shirt off next, and Louis hung back, breaking their kiss so that he could admire the glisten of Harry’s skin in the firelight as it became exposed. Standing in front of Louis clad only in his breeches, Harry looked like some sort of angel on earth.

Louis’ breath caught in his chest as he watched him grow more and more embarrassed under Louis’ stare.

“Lou,” he pleaded modestly. While his lips were begging for Louis to stop staring at him so openly, his casual, relaxed stance with his hands clasped behind his back was coy and inviting. He liked showing off for Louis.

“You look amazing. You’re so beautiful,” Louis said, watching as Harry’s eyelids fluttered and his cheeks grew pink at the compliment.

“I told you before; all I can think about sometimes is touching you,” Harry replied as he made to move back into Louis’ space.

Louis felt a tug of arousal as he followed the path of Harry’s hands with his eyes. Harry made quick work of Louis’ waistcoat and shirtsleeves before hooking his hands into Louis’ breeches.

“Ah—” Louis teased, pushing Harry’s hand away. “That’s not fair, it’s your turn.” He carefully unhooked Harry’s breeches until the waist had loosened and the placket had fallen open in front. Louis was salivating at the sight of Harry’s cock but resisted for a bit longer as he tucked his hands so that his palms were laying flat against Harry’s hips, skin to skin, and he could pull the fabric down. Harry’s were so tight, tighter than usual Louis had noticed earlier in the evening, and he peeled the buckskin all the way down to the ground tapping one foot after the other so Harry could step out of them.

He took Harry’s hand and led him to the bed, before lifting himself up onto the soft velvet blanket and pulling Harry up with him. With a little maneuvering, Louis managed to lay Harry out beneath him until he was perched on his thighs, surveying his kingdom.

Louis snickered at that, and Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I enjoy having you here, in my bed, for me to look at,” Louis explained haltingly.

Harry draped his hands over Louis’ knees, “I enjoy being here.” He began drawing little circles on Louis’ skin with the tips of his fingers, dragging through the coarse hair there. His cock was hard, resting on his abdomen, but he didn’t seem to be in any rush to do anything about it, content to lie there while Louis looked his fill.

Louis leaned down and placed a brief kiss on Harry’s lips, being careful not to linger. The firelight made Harry’s jawline stand out against the bedclothes, and there was no reason for Louis to keep himself from tasting it any longer.

Nibbling on the sensitive skin under Harry’s ear, Louis heard the tiny little whimpers in the back of Harry’s throat before they even hit the air. He left a trail of saliva in his wake, moving down Harry’s neck to his chest. His collarbone, too, was illuminated in the glow. That clearly meant Louis needed to taste him there as well.

Teasing Harry Styles was quickly becoming an art form that Louis wanted to devote hours and hours to perfecting. His small, puffy nipples stood out against the hard muscles of his chest. Louis bumped the right one with his nose before darting his tongue out to give it a quick lick.

Harry shuddered at the sensation, so Louis decided to take it further. He blew a line of air across the pink skin and watched as it puckered under his scrutiny. Harry started squirming beneath him, so Louis clamped his knees together harder to keep him in place. He switched to Harry’s other nipple and repeated the same process.

When Harry still wouldn’t stay still, Louis relaxed his spine and knees, letting his torso drape over Harry’s completely. He could feel the heat from Harry’s groin against his lower abdomen and shifted a bit to get comfortable, teasing him with his skin.

He laid his hands flat on Harry’s chest and rested his chin on top. Harry let his chin dip. “I could stay here for hours,” Louis whispered.

“I would let you,” Harry replied, even whilst his hips began shifting to get more friction against the skin of Louis’ abdomen, his body betraying how needy he was actually feeling. Louis showed him mercy and resumed his path down Harry’s body before taking his cock into his mouth.

Harry’s head pressed into the mattress and the veins stood out on his neck as he moaned Louis’ name into the shadows of the canopy.

“This is to return the favor.” Louis teased his tongue along Harry’s shaft “From last week.” When he pulled away, Harry’s hips lifted to follow, chasing the feeling of his mouth.

“Lou,” Harry whimpered.

All of Harry’s begging and pleading was beautiful to listen to, but Louis settled in for a nice long, leisurely exploration of his cock. Minutes ticked by and all Louis could hear was the desperate little noises Harry was making as he teased him.

Eventually, when he thought Harry was ready, he brought his hand up towards Harry’s mouth and tapped lightly on his lips. “Open up, darling.”

When he did, Louis inserted two fingers into Harry’s mouth, letting him wet them, bite them, lick them, and use the sensation to distract and ground himself.

He pulled his hand back away from Harry’s mouth, leaving him empty, but the moment he brought his hand down and teased the pad of one of his wet fingers along Harry’s rim, Harry melted into the mattress. His knees came up and fell apart naturally, presenting himself for Louis’ ministrations.

The more he teased Harry, the more his own arousal increased until he could no longer ignore it. With how open and vulnerable Harry had made himself, getting him ready for Louis’ cock was simple. As soon as Louis breached his rim, Harry began to push back on his fingers, ready for more, hungry for anything Louis wanted to give him.

“I’m ready,” Harry gasped from somewhere above Louis. “Please, Lou. I want to feel you everywhere.”

Louis crawled back up the bed until he was up high enough to kiss Harry silly. He looked ethereal, with his rosy lips and a halo of hair spread around him on the pillow. When they left Louis’ bedroom—which wouldn’t be for at least another week if Louis had anything to say about it—Louis was going to commission every artist in London to paint portraits of Harry.

Lovely, impatient, cheeky Harry who had taken advantage of Louis’ awe to reach down between them and guide Louis’ cock until it was poised at his entrance.

“Greedy, boy,” Louis whispered fondly as he scraped his teeth across one of Harry’s nipples. He couldn’t help himself; they looked liked raspberries but tasted like Harry.

Louis lifted his torso and held himself up with one hand before taking over and lining himself up to push into Harry slowly and carefully. Harry keened, bringing his knees together to clamp onto Louis’ hips.

Louis pushed forward steadily until he was finally buried inside Harry. “Oh God,” he ground out with a broken cry. Harry’s muscles were tightening around him like a velvet fist, and he had never felt anything so exquisite.

Harry was falling apart below him in his own sort of bliss and desperation. His hands lifted off the blankets to grip Louis’ arms and anchor himself. Louis was content to hold there and wait for Harry to be ready until Harry’s huge palm landed right on top of Louis’ soulmark and stayed there.

Lightning shot through him, lighting him up from the inside out, and his hips stuttered, pressing even deeper.

“Wha—?” Harry’s eyes blinked open bleary and confused before they rolled back as he moaned.

“Harry,” Louis panted, bolts of pleasure still shooting through him as long as Harry gripped his arm right over his mark. “I need to move,” he cried.

Harry nodded frantically. “Please.”

Louis pulled back his hips and set a steady rhythm. A plan formulated as he shifted his weight. “Keep- Harry, keep your hand there,” he ground out.

Some of his shifting must have changed the angle of his movement because Harry began to cry out with each of Louis’ thrusts.

Balancing his weight on one hand, Louis used the other to pin Harry’s arm down, shifting his hand inch by inch until it fully engulfed Harry’s soulmark as well.

Harry went wild, squirming to meet Louis’ thrusts and crying out even louder. He wrapped his legs around Louis’ back and hooked his ankles over Louis’ arse trying to draw him even closer.

Louis could feel his release building at the base of his spine, but he was determined to see to Harry’s pleasure first.

He needn’t have worried; Harry crashed over the edge, spasming around Louis and digging his nails into Louis’ soulmark. That was all it took for Louis to follow him a moment later.

His arms were shaking with the force of his release as aftershocks rolled through his body and he tried to hold himself up and not collapse on Harry. At some point, Harry let go of his soulmark, smoothing out the edges of his pleasure. Then, Harry lifted his hand up to comb his fingers through Louis’ hair, soothing him as he came down.

Louis pulled himself out of Harry, lest the sensation begin to hurt him. Once he was sure Harry was alright, he let himself collapse on the blanket next to him. Harry immediately rolled into his body, curling himself up in order to press his face into the damp skin of Louis’ neck and nose at his jaw.

“Wait,” Louis said, voice hoarse. “We can’t get too comfortable.”

He climbed out of bed and tended the fire as he noticed that his muscles were already pleasantly sore. He grabbed a linen and crossed to the basin of water on his dressing table. He dipped the linen a few times before returning to Harry and wiping his torso and between his legs quickly.

Harry was useless for the most part, letting his legs fall open again languidly as he watched Louis move around the room.

Louis ached to get back into bed with him, but they would both be more comfortable if they were clean and under the eiderdown.

Louis tried to get into bed properly as he pulled the bedclothes down as far as they would go before Harry’s bulk got in the way. Harry giggled, allowing himself to be deadweight in hindrance of Louis’ progress.

Eventually, Louis managed to cocoon Harry under the blankets before he crawled in to join him. Harry resumed the position they had been in, draping one of his arms, his left arm, across Louis’ torso, drawing him close. Louis did the same with an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

They lay there in silence for a few moments until Louis couldn’t help himself and began tracing the hilt of his dagger where it had appeared in Harry’s soulmark with the tip of his finger.

“That tingles,” Harry whispered as his breath tickled Louis’ neck.

“Does it?” Louis asked.

“Mmm,” Harry replied.

“We should probably discuss this,” Louis admitted into the stillness of the room.

Harry lifted his head up a bit, searching Louis’ gaze. “What’s there to discuss?”

“Everything,” Louis replied with a slightly hysterical edge to his voice. “We’re soulmates. Our whole lives are going to change.”

Harry leaned down to kiss him, and amazingly Louis felt soothed from just that. “I live with Gemma in borrowed rooms. If you’re amenable, it seems likely I should move in here.”

“Amenable?” Louis repeated weakly. What a bland word to use to describe something he wanted so very desperately.

“After that, or before, we shall get married. Then, once the hubbub has settled, will it really be all that different?” he asked.

That gave Louis pause. They were both independent people with separate interests. Louis would never dream of keeping Harry from anything he wanted to do and he could only assume based on this conversation Harry felt the same way. They would still see their friends, many of which were the same now, their families were already fairly integrated. Maybe Harry was right.

“I suppose I’ll have to avoid you a lot less now,” Louis added wryly.

Harry kissed him again, this time with entirely too much tongue to be innocent. “I would appreciate that, yes.”

They settled into the blankets, and Louis slept better than he had in a long time.

 

Birds chirped outside as dawn broke through Louis’ window, even though they were in the heart of London. The sounds of the city coming to life meant it wasn’t anywhere near so relaxing as it would have been on his beautiful estate in Yorkshire.

Harry was going to love it when he saw it.

Louis’ eyes flew open at the thought. Harry.

He began to register the chill in the air and how it was offset by the warm body draped over his. The fire in the room had died completely, and he supposed he had the servants to thank for that. Someone had most likely heard them the night before and warned all of the housekeepers to stay away indefinitely.

As carefully as he could, Louis stretched out his arm to pull the bell for the kitchens. He didn’t use it very often to call for someone, preferring to go downstairs instead of sit around waiting for a tray, but today the hounds of hell could nip at his heels and he still wouldn’t get out of bed.

Once he was satisfied that someone had probably heard him, he very carefully lowered his arm back down, trying not to make any sudden movements.

“Is someone going to bring me toast?” Harry’s garbled voice asked from somewhere near Louis’ shoulder. So much for staying quiet.

“Mmm. And jam.”

“Good,” Harry huffed before burrowing further into the blankets.

Louis pressed a kiss to the crown of Harry’s head as he settled back down as well. His eyes had just drifted closed again when there was a knock on the door indicating his breakfast had arrived.

“Harry, love, I’m going to pull the blanket up.”

Harry lifted his head up for the first time. The eighteen different directions his hair was trying to escape in would have been comical if he hadn’t looked so concerned. “Are you ashamed of me, Lou?” he asked as the hurt flashed across his face.

“No, no,” Louis rushed out. “It’s just that we’re not married yet and…” He looked down at their naked bodies tangled in the blankets. “This is a little compromising.”

“But we’re soulmates,” Harry said, still confused.

Louis pressed a kiss to his lips because he couldn’t help it as another slightly less polite knock sounded at the door. “I know, but wouldn’t you prefer to tell our families ourselves in our own time as opposed to my mother hearing it from the servants and telling the town crier before we even have the chance to put our drawers on?”

Harry let out a loud sharp laugh before covering his own mouth in surprise. “No, I suppose you’re right.” He lowered back down into the blankets and flattened himself out as Louis attempted to look casual.

“Come in!” he called when Harry was settled.

“My lord,” Wadsworth bowed as he entered. It was very rare for the butler to bring him his breakfast, instead of his valet Downey, and Louis’s confusion surely showed on his face, because Wadsworth stood up straight again before addressing him. “Your and Mr. Styles’ breakfast is served,” he said in a deadpan voice.

Amidst his misery, Louis saw the barest twitch at the corner of the butler’s lips. He was enjoying this.

Louis groaned and flopped back on the pillow as his hidden Harry-sized lump let out an oomph. “Thank you, Wadsworth,” he recited as the man bowed again before retreating.

Harry peeked his head out. “That worked quite well, don’t you think?”

Louis reached down to tickle his side, getting briefly sidetracked by the moans that were mixed in with Harry’s protests.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Louis climbed out of bed to retrieve their slightly cold breakfast. He brought the tray over, and he and Harry spent the rest of the morning feeding each other cut fruit that tasted as though it was fresh from the market that morning, and toast with jam.

He would probably have crumbs for weeks, and he couldn’t care less.

Louis stopped short. They. They would have crumbs for weeks. Now that Harry had been in his bed once, and Louis had found his soulmate, he was never letting him go.

The first snag they hit was when they got dressed. Louis took immediate issue with the fact that they were dressed at all. The second snag was that Harry was clearly wearing the same clothing from last night, and both of their jackets were still down in Louis’ study where they had abandoned them in their fervor the night before.

They made a mad dash for it—twenty minutes and a hundred kisses later than they had planned—and reached Louis’ study without incident. Harry put his jacket back on and they both descended the stairs to where his mother and sisters were in the drawing room.

“Good afternoon, mother,” Louis greeted as he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. “I offered Harry use of a guest room last night as we were up talking late into the night and it was too late for him to return home.”

“Hello,” Harry chimed in from behind him as they moved to sit down on the large settee under the front window. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he added. Lottie and Fizzy looked as though they were ready to burst.

“Anytime, darling,” Lady Tomlinson assured him. “Talking did you say?”

“Yes, and playing a few rounds of chess,” he added for plausibility.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Playing chess? Is that what young people are calling it these days?”

Louis felt his jaw slacken and his cheeks flame red. Harry froze next to him and his wide-eyed gaze shot to Louis for help. He had no idea what to say.

Lottie and Fizzy were doubled over, and Lottie had clutched her embroidery so fiercely she had pricked her finger by accident. Tears were streaming down her face from her laughter as she brought her finger to her mouth to stop the bleeding before it began.

Louis was moving to Timbuktu, far away from the madness of his family. He would consent to bring Harry with him when he went, though.

Speaking of Harry, Louis supposed the secret was out. He reached across the space between them and laced their fingers together.

“We’re soulmates,” he said, his eyes not leaving Harry’s.

“That’s nice, dear, do Harry’s family know you’ve found out?” his mother asked, acting surprisingly unsurprised.

Harry floundered. “No, um. It was only last night.”

“Very well,” she sighed. “Harry, when you go back today will you let Gemma know I’ll plan to have them tomorrow?”

Harry was still at a loss, so Louis stepped in. “Mother, have you ever actually been introduced to Gemma?”

“Of course,” she said waving him off. “We’ve been planning this for weeks. I’ve already got the menu and the guest list.”

“For we—Guest list?”

“To have them over so we can formally meet Harry’s parents. Don’t worry, darlings, leave it all to me. Off you go, now!” She shooed them away and didn’t stop until Louis and Harry stood up and left the house.

They both paused on the front steps in a daze.

Finally, Harry gave Louis’ hand a squeeze. “It’s a little unnerving that our families were so prepared for this eventuality,” Harry said.

“Agreed,” Louis replied.

“I suppose we should go over and face the fray across the square,” Harry shrugged.

Louis grinned up at him. “I supposed we should.”


	12. Chapter 12

**EPILOGUE**

**_One Year Later_ **

Looking back on it, Louis thought it had all happened rather quickly.

They met, they courted, they checked their soulmarks—though he liked to gloss over that part when he thought about it—and now he was back at the dreadful modiste. The woman who ran the shop yelled at him in French entirely too often for his liking considering he was the one who paid the bill.

His mother was sitting across from him in the seating area where one of the shop girls was handing her little bonbons and serving her champagne. He was a tad bit grumpy about the treatment he was getting, but he supposed most brothers weren’t as active in picking out wedding clothes as he was so they didn’t have much experience dealing with them.

The family had gotten word that the silk trim had finally come in and the dress had been finished just that morning, so off they popped first thing after breakfast.

Felicité came around the corner from the back of the shop and she was absolutely radiant. Louis couldn’t help but admire how happy she looked and the way her eyes lit up as they attendants did the final check that everything was fitted or draped how it should be.

The fabric was a light blue with silver trim that set off her dark features and pale skin quite nicely. They were the exact shade of her eyes, it had been matched quite nicely.

After she was poked and prodded some more, they declared her dress finished and fit for a bride. Louis officially put it on his account, and Fizzy was ushered back to the dressing room to don her walking dress once again.

Louis grew restless, as he often did, and began exploring the shop. He approached a display of trim and saw, to his astonishment, a swath of jade-green lace tucked in the very back—understandable as it was now surely two years out of season. He gasped as he reached out to tug the small piece of fabric to try and see how much was left.

“Hello,” a deep voice said over his shoulder, causing Louis to startle.

Warm, strong arms encircled his waist before he even had the chance to turn around. He happily leaned back into Harry’s hold. “Mmm, hello. This is a nice surprise.”

“I knew you would be here, but I needed to stop by and see Za— Is that what I think it is?” Harry asked as he stood up a little straighter and strained his neck to see over Louis' shoulder and get closer to the trim.

Louis confirmed that it was before he pinched his fingers together and pulled the edge of the fabric, completely disrupting the display. He had to admit to being disappointed when just a small strip of the lace came loose.

Harry turned to nuzzle into the crown of Louis’ head to press a kiss there. “Oh, well.”

Denied the very real possibility of Harry in jade-green lace—a vision that had been planted in his head a more than a year ago—Louis’ grumpy mood returned.

“How did she look?” Harry asked, interrupting Louis’ very inappropriate thoughts to turn him around in his arms.

Louis couldn’t help the pride in his voice when he replied. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Harry let his hands drift from Louis’ upper arms to his forearms, landing right over his soulmark. The physical reaction to Harry, the one that felt like it was coming from underneath his skin, had lessened in intensity since they had discovered that they were soulmates. Louis managed to find a source in his research that said that reaction was perfectly normal. Something about constant exposure to your soulmate allowing the reaction to diminish.

There would always be a little twinge of pleasure that made his chest flood with warmth, though. That would never go away.

When the girls were all finished, they gathered at the front of the shop as they waited for the carriage to come around.

Louis waited and watched Harry observe Fizzy so he could have his chance to see just how radiant she was. He only had to wait another moment before Harry turned back to him. “How is he doing, then?”

His husband's care for others truly made his heart melt, but Louis needed to rein it in until they were behind closed doors. Lots of closed doors, all with big enormous locks on them so they wouldn’t get interrupted.

“He’s alright I think. Mostly, he’s just been in a lovesick daze from what I can tell. Can’t get him to concentrate on much of anything,” Louis added.

Harry snorted and made an impolite noise that was thankfully covered up by the carriage wheels so Louis’ mother didn’t get the chance to chastise him for it.

Once everyone had been handed into the carriage, they made their way slowly down Bond Street and back to Grosvenor Square. Louis cursed the rain that forced them to be in the covered vehicle, otherwise, it was a lovely walk.

When they arrived back to their stables, unsurprisingly, the first groom to greet them was the one that had been on everyone’s minds all afternoon.

Fizzy practically leaped out of the carriage before it had to come to a stop—despite her mother’s protests—and into Anthony’s waiting arms.

Anthony caught her in a hug and spun her around a few times before placing her gingerly back down on the ground. They were already lost in their own world before anyone else had the chance to think about disembarking.

“Really, Felicité, at least _pretend_ you understand propriety.”  Lady Tomlinson grumbled good-naturedly. She liked to lecture, but wouldn’t dream of separating the young soulmates.

It hadn’t been much of a surprise when Fizzy dragged Anthony into the townhouse one day, gathered everyone who was at home and declared that they were soulmates.

After the business with Percy Crawford, his sister had taken to riding a fair amount—almost every day. As she had always enjoyed more solitary pursuits, no one had questioned it. Soon, she was spending more and more time out in the stables, and less time actually riding. She also always seemed to be mysteriously present every time Louis was on the hunt for his best groom.

Louis had gained a brother-in-law but had lost a groom. A fact he wasn’t too keen on if he was honest. Harry liked to ignore him when he complained about it until it was time to remind him that Anthony was his favorite for a reason, mostly because he was such a good person, and therefore perfect for Fizzy.

He and Harry had been nervous for the young couple, initially. While Harry had been of inferior birth when they married, he had still been a part of society. Anthony’s situation was much different as he was merely a servant in Louis’ household.

At first, Anthony had been apprehensive about entering London society and everything that would be required of him as Fizzy’s husband. Luckily, Fizzy found during her time as a debutante that she had absolutely no use for town, so as soon as they were married they would be taking up residence in Doncaster. Anthony was overjoyed to be running Louis’ stables out in the countryside, and Fizzy was happy to be going back to living full time with her mother and the younger children.

Either way, Fizzy was happy which was all that mattered.

Louis stood there watching them silhouetted against the rain for another few minutes before Harry tugged on his sleeve and pulled him inside.

The whole family was down from Doncaster, so the house was in a state of utter chaos. On one hand, it was crazy and frustrating and claustrophobic. On the other hand, there was so much else going on that it took everyone much longer to notice when he and Harry disappeared for a few hours in the middle of the day.

 

Three days later, their small neighborhood chapel was bursting with various siblings and cousins as everyone watched Fizzy and Anthony say their vows. Her blue and silver gown looked beautiful, as Louis thought it would, and Harry was a sobbing mess. Louis’ handkerchief was absolutely soaked through.

He held Harry’s hand as they exited the church and loaded up on flower petals. It was Louis job to stand at the end of the pathway and hand Fizzy into the carriage so they could depart to their honeymoon, but it was such a crush he wasn’t sure he would be able to get there.

Harry elbowed his way through the crowd with his politely disarming smile and never-ending charm until they were right next to the carriage.

Louis handed all of his flower petals to Harry who had entirely too much fun showering them over Fizzy and Anthony as the bells pealed and they stepped out into the world as husband and wife for the first time.

Louis did his duty and handed her up into the intricately decorated carriage when the time came. He closed and latched the door, and was the first to wave them off as they rode off for their honeymoon.

They would be gone for a month exploring the Lake District in the north of England. All of their things would be sent on with them to Doncaster first, so there really wouldn’t be much cause for them to return to London anytime soon.

Louis felt Harry’s hand slip into his as he blinked back tears at the idea of not seeing Fizzy for all that time. Their trips to Doncaster may have to become more frequent.

“We’ll see them, Lou,” Harry said. Louis gazed up at his husband and soulmate. He knew Harry and Fizzy had a special relationship as well and he wasn’t the only one who would miss her.

“Yes,” he agreed. “We will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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